


Within A Garden Wall

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Medication, Mind Games, Recovery, Secrets, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Trust, Withdrawal, a lot of tea drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos works as a gardener in the grounds of a big empty manor house. For months the place is shut up and deserted, but then a man comes to stay in a small cottage by the lake. Drawn to him, Porthos discovers that Athos is recovering from a breakdown, but it may be that not everything is as it seems. Athos is reluctant to talk about what happened or who he is, but when he starts seeing the ghost of his supposedly dead wife, it's up to Porthos to prevent a tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a solitary job, but a pleasant one Porthos reflected, kneeling on the grass walk and reaching into the herbaceous border to pluck out another handful of persistent weeds. The pile in the wheelbarrow was steadily growing, evidence not of neglect but of the sheer volume of flowerbeds to cover. There must be a couple of miles if you added them together he decided, not to mention the ornamental hedges and topiary. 

He booked in outside firms to keep the latter under control and to cut the sweeping expanses of lawn, but the flowerbeds Porthos liked to tend himself. He'd been here almost seven months now, and watched them go from snow-covered hibernation to a riot of colour.

Visiting maintenance contractors aside, for the most part he'd been alone, working steadily away under the shadow of the house. He never had managed to get the full story of what had happened here, but the owners had shut it up suddenly and gone away, laying off all of the staff. Porthos had been brought in to keep the grounds tidy and secure, engaged via an agency halfway across the country. 

Whatever the circumstances he was grateful for the job, and for the fact that he was mostly left to his own devices. He lived in an old gamekeeper's cottage on the edge of the grounds, and the village was only a short walk away. The locals had proved friendly enough, after they'd got over the stir he'd caused by being wilfully black in a rural area. 

He straightened up and stretched the kinks out of his back, smiling as he watched a blackbird dragging a worm out from where he'd turned over the soil.

A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Porthos looked round just in time to see a figure walk past the end of the path. 

He got to his feet, swearing under his breath. There shouldn't be anyone in the grounds apart from him, but people still turned up from time to time, either having mistaken it for a National Trust property, or just being nosy. It was incredible how many people thought they had a right to walk through private gardens just because they wanted a look.

The only other regular trespassers were kids from the village, but he largely turned a blind eye to them as long as they didn't cause any damage, and stayed away from the house. He'd have killed for a place like this to play in when he was growing up, after all.

Porthos hurried to the end of the formal walk and looked around. The intruder was a short distance away, walking slowly down towards the lake and making no effort to conceal himself from view.

"Hey! Excuse me?" Porthos started after him, and was relieved when the man stopped and looked round. Hopefully he would be reasonable and piss off without an argument. It was the chippy ones with a sense of entitlement that really got his goat. 

"Can I help you?" Porthos asked pointedly, but keeping his tone respectful. The man might be looking for him for some reason after all, or be here on behalf of the agents, although he hadn't been notified of anyone being due.

"No, thank you?" The man gave him a rather confused smile. "I'm quite alright?"

"Er, no I meant - you can't be here," Porthos explained kindly, because the chap seemed harmless and had been polite. "It's private property."

"Oh." His expression cleared. "No, it's alright, you see, I live here."

Porthos frowned at him in surprise. "You live here?" He looked up at the house automatically. "No mate, the house is shut up, I think I'd have noticed." Wondering if he was a nutcase after all.

"The Folly."

For a second Porthos thought this was a terribly upperclass comment on the decision to close up the house. 

The stranger saw his confusion. "Down by the lake?" He gestured vaguely further down the path and Porthos suddenly realised what he meant. 

"Oh! The roundhouse?" There was an old eighteenth century brick house on the bank of the ornamental lake, roughly circular with a thatched roof. Porthos had never been inside, but he'd peered through the windows and knew the ground floor was full of furniture under dust sheets.

"Yes. That's the one." The man seemed about to move off again, as if assuming the conversation was at a close. 

"Hang on. Who are you? I mean - how do I know you're supposed to be here?" Porthos protested.

"My name is Athos. As to what would convince you of my legitimacy, I'm not entirely sure how to prove it." He looked mildly amused and Porthos was starting to feel embarrassed. 

"Um. I have the key to the door?" Athos suggested, after considering the problem for a second. "Would that help?" 

"I guess," Porthos said dubiously. He'd go back and call the agents, he decided, find out if this guy was really supposed to be here or not, but in the meantime it wouldn't hurt to humour him.

"I promise I'm not a trespasser," Athos said quietly, and started walking off down the path. Porthos followed, feeling both awkward and suspicious.

When they reached the folly, true to his word Athos took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. "Would you like to come in?" he asked, and stepped inside without waiting for a response.

Skin prickling slightly Porthos followed him in, wondering if he was about to get lamped over the back of the head. To his surprise the interior had been cleared of all its dust sheets, the floor swept and furniture polished, and there was a vase of fresh flowers on the table.

"I hope you don't mind," Athos said with a tentative smile. "I picked them this morning. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Uh." Porthos stared round the neat little room in amazement. "I mean, yes, please. Thank you." He frowned. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, I only moved in two days ago." Athos was filling a kettle at the sink, and placed it on the hob of the rayburn. The downstairs was all one room, with a door leading to what Porthos presumed was the staircase up to the bedroom above.

"How did you - I mean - I'm not being funny, but I wasn't told anyone was coming?"

"I'm sorry, I'd have let you know I'd arrived, but - I don't know who you are?" Athos said apologetically. 

Porthos felt dafter than ever. "Sorry, I'm Porthos DuVallon, I'm the groundsman. Gardening and security, that's me. I don't mean to be rude, I just thought I was on my own here."

"That's quite alright." Athos looked relieved. "They should have told you. I'll have a word." He fetched down a teapot with blue roses on it, and started setting out a tray. "Shall we drink it outside? It's such a lovely day, and we don't get many."

When the water had boiled and the tea was steeping, Athos lead the way back out the door and round the side of the building to where an area of wooden decking stretched a little way out into the lake. There was patio furniture on it that Porthos swore hadn't been there last time he'd passed this way, and Athos set the tray down on the wrought iron table.

"Do you look after all this by yourself?" Athos asked, pouring out two cups. 

"Mostly," Porthos admitted, finally taking the other chair. "I've got men who come in to do the hedge trimming and mowing. The rest I just keep steadily working away at. It'd need a full team to keep it in pristine condition, I'm just here to keep things ticking over really, while the owners are away."

Athos nodded attentively. "Then you're doing an incredible job I must say. It all looks spectacular. I hope you don't mind me pinching a few."

Porthos realised that was the second time Athos had apologised for picking some flowers, and shook his head. "Course not," he smiled. "I'm glad there's someone else to appreciate them."

"Do you live nearby?" Athos asked.

"Other side of the grounds," Porthos told him. "Gamekeeper's Cottage?"

"Oh, you live on site?" Athos sipped his tea. "Well, good to know I'm not quite alone here then."

"We won't be crowding each other," Porthos laughed. "Took me two days to even notice you were here!"

"True." Athos smiled. "I keep myself to myself mostly. So you won't have to worry about any other would-be trespassers."

Porthos ducked his head. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Not a problem. You weren't to know." Athos hesitated, then looked at him. "I won't have many visitors, but my doctor will be coming by every fortnight or so."

"Oh, right, okay." Porthos nodded, immediately wanting to know more and realising it would be incredibly rude to ask. "Well, I'll make sure not to clamp 'em them, eh?" he grinned.

"Thank you." Athos gave him a faint smile that seemed to convey a note of gratitude that Porthos hadn't pushed for details.

"You're here long term then?" Porthos asked, realising if the doctor was expected fortnightly that implied a considerable length of stay. He'd half wondered if the place had been let out as a holiday cottage.

"For a while, at least," Athos nodded. "I'm - convalescing," he added carefully.

"Okay." Porthos reined in his curiosity again and just nodded. "Well, let me know if you need anything, yeah? I can always pick stuff up in the van if you need me to. "

"Thank you. That's very kind." Athos looked surprised and touched, and Porthos wondered what had happened to him. There was a hesitant and rather battered air about the man that suggested he'd had a hard time of it recently.

"No problem." Porthos drained his cup and set it carefully back on the saucer. "I guess I'd better get back to work. Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome." Athos half-smiled. "Thanks for not strong-arming me off the premises."

Porthos laughed. "Yeah, well. You seem legit. Certainly got the place cleaned up nicely."

"It was good to have something to keep my mind occupied for a day or two," Athos admitted. 

"Well let me know if you get bored," Porthos said as he got to his feet. "I've got a nettle patch that needs clearing I've been putting off for weeks."

"I'll certainly bear that in mind. If nothing else it should serve to remind me there are worse things than being bored." 

Athos watched him walk away, a slight frown creasing his forehead. He'd expected to be quite alone here, and to discover he had a neighbour, even one so remote had come as a shock.

His hand shook a little as he poured out a second cup of tea, and he was forced to use both to steady the pot. 

Perhaps having Porthos around wouldn't be such a bad thing after all he reflected, staring out over the lake. Whilst he'd come here in search of peace and quiet, utter loneliness might have been counter-productive. And Porthos hadn't tried to pry, which had come as a relief. Athos wasn't sure he was ready to spill his guts to a stranger just yet. 

\--

Over the next couple of days Porthos caught sight of Athos a couple of times, but only at a distance. The first time Athos was on the far side of the lake, just a flash of colour between the trees as he slowly walked the perimeter. The second time he was close enough for Porthos to wave and he was relieved when Athos waved back, although making no move to come over and talk.

Porthos had phoned the agency after their first encounter, and made discreet enquiries. After about an hour he'd finally had a call back confirming that Athos had a genuine right to be there, although no more information appeared to be forthcoming. It was none of his business he supposed, although now he was more curious than ever. Perhaps Athos was a friend of the absent owners. 

Either way, given his valid claim to be in residence, Porthos was glad Athos hadn't taken offence at what had after all been him just trying to do his job. Athos probably could have made things difficult for him, if he'd felt like it.

Given that Athos had made it fairly clear he wanted to be alone, Porthos didn't want it to look as if he was pushing his company on him and therefore told himself it was an entirely unrelated interest in the progress of the water lilies that had him walking down to the lake on the third day.

There was no sign of Athos, but the door to the little round house was standing open, and Porthos could just see a tray of breakfast things sitting on the garden table at the back. 

He was just debating sticking his head in the door to say hello, when from inside came a sudden loud crash of what sounded like breaking crockery. 

Porthos hesitated, torn between going to see if help was needed, and of inadvertently causing embarrassment. What made his mind up was catching a low moan of distress, and he hurriedly bounded up the step. It was in his mind that if Athos wasn't well he might have fallen over or something. 

"Hello?" Porthos cautiously knocked on the open door, not wanting to make Athos jump, and at first not seeing him. "Is everything alright? I heard a crash?"

A movement nearer ground level drew his eye and Porthos realised Athos was kneeling on the floor behind the table in a spreading pool of what for a hideous second Porthos thought was blood. There were fragments of blue and white china all over the floor, and recognising the rose pattern Porthos realised with a flood of relief that it was only tea after all. He hurried forwards, concerned that Athos hadn't reacted to his voice and was just staring at the mess.

"Athos?" he said gently, not wanting to touch him until Athos had acknowledged his presence. "Is everything okay?" Porthos crouched down beside him, and Athos slowly turned his head to look vacantly at him.

Porthos suddenly realised Athos was rubbing his wrist, and that the liquid soaking into the floorboards was still steaming slightly. 

"Are you hurt? Have you burnt yourself?"

Athos still didn't reply, but Porthos reached out now and slowly took hold of his arm. Turning it slightly he found a livid red mark on the pale skin, and also discovered that Athos was shaking. 

"Here, come here, let's get that under cold water," Porthos urged, slipping an arm around Athos' waist and helping him to his feet. He guided him over to the big Belfast sink and turned on the tap, moving Athos' wrist under the flow and holding it there.

Athos gave a shudder and looked up at him, as if the shock of the cold water had brought him back to himself a little.

"Porthos?"

"Yeah, it's okay. Don't worry, I don't think it's a bad burn, but it'll probably sting for a bit. You got any cream or anything we could put on it?"

Athos frowned, then nodded, seeming to accept Porthos' presence here without question. 

"Upstairs," he said. "There's some savlon by the bath."

"Okay, I'll find it. You keep that arm under the cold water, okay?" Porthos waited till he nodded, then hurried towards the stairs. 

Glad that his guess regarding the purpose of the inner door had been right and he hadn't just tried to walk into a cupboard, Porthos made his way up the steep winding staircase feeling vaguely guilty at the fact he was just as curious to see upstairs as he was keen to help.

Stepping out on the first floor, Porthos discovered that this too was mostly one big room. There was a big iron-framed bed, the bedclothes still rumpled as if Athos hadn't been up long. On the other side of the room on a slightly raised dais was a big old fashioned roll-top bath with claw feet, and a fold-out painted Japanese screen standing to one side. 

Porthos headed for the bath and basin, finding a couple of small wicker baskets on the windowsill, one of which was full of jumbled toiletries. The second one held a surprising number of pill bottles, and Porthos frowned to himself before spotting and grabbing the distinctive blue tube of antiseptic cream.

Before heading back downstairs he took a last look round, curious at finally getting to see what was up here. Another door stood partially open, revealing a toilet with a spectacular view of the lake and Porthos smiled, thinking what a fantastic spot for contemplation it was.

Abruptly remembering Athos was waiting for him below and probably wondering what he was up to in his bedroom, Porthos hurried back down the stairs. Athos was still standing dutifully at the sink, and let Porthos carefully pat his arm dry and apply some of the cream before wrapping it in gauze.

"There. Should be good as new by tomorrow," Porthos told him cheerfully. 

"Thank you," Athos said distantly, still seeming rather out of it. He looked helplessly at the mess on the floor, and Porthos took pity on him. 

"Come on, let's get you sat down, and I'll clean up all this, yeah?"

"Oh - you don't have to - " Athos protested, colour rising in his cheeks, but Porthos was firm.

"Rubbish. Come on, here you go." He helped Athos over to the couch then set about mopping up the spilt tea with fistfuls of kitchen roll, before sweeping up the pieces of broken teapot and dumping them in the bin. 

"There. All done." Porthos sat down beside Athos and tried to catch his eye. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "Was it very precious? The teapot, I mean?" he clarified, as Athos frowned at him in confusion.

Athos gave a jerky shake of the head. "No, no, not at all. It was just - a shock, I suppose. The noise, and mess. I - I get so clumsy, sometimes, you see. And then I don't always quite know what to do. My brain goes all squirrelly," he explained dolefully. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm such a fool."

To Porthos' horror he realised there were tears in Athos' eyes, and he cleared his throat hurriedly. 

"No, not at all, don't be daft. Look, why don't we go for a walk? Bit of sunshine and fresh air probably do you good, calm you down a bit."

Athos looked grateful but embarrassed, and was clearly about to refuse on principle so Porthos stood up and offered him his hand. "Come on. Let's go and pick you some fresh flowers."

Athos gave in, but he got up by himself. "You're very kind," he said quietly. "I don't want to be a nuisance."

"Who's being a nuisance? Gives me an excuse to put off the stinging nettles, don't it?" Porthos grinned, and was gratified when Athos smiled back. 

"Alright. Thank you." 

They strolled slowly through the gardens, and Porthos was pleased to see some colour come back into Athos' cheeks. He cut a selection of flowers and foliage as they wandered, building up an attractive bunch for Athos' kitchen table. 

"So - you've been ill?" Porthos ventured, after they'd been talking idly about safely neutral things like the weather and the gardens for some time. Athos immediately looked anxious again and Porthos lost his nerve. "Sorry. None of my business."

They walked on in silence for a while, stopping to lean on the parapet of a bridge that crossed an arm of the lake, where the dark shadows of fish could be seen slipping through the depths below them.

Athos looked sideways at Porthos, and seemed to make up his mind.

"I've not been ill," Athos said slowly. "Not exactly. Truth is, I - had something of a breakdown," he admitted.

"Oh." Porthos immediately felt bad for pressing. "I'm sorry to hear that." 

"I came here to - try and put myself back together a bit," Athos confessed. "I thought not being around people would help." 

"Sorry," Porthos said. "Should I leave you alone?"

"No, no, I didn't mean that," Athos protested. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I'm very grateful for your help, I'd probably still be sitting on the floor crying if it wasn't for you."

Porthos shifted awkwardly. "You don't have to be grateful," he said. "Anyone would've done the same. I'm just glad I happened to be passing."

"Me too." Athos managed a faint smile, and Porthos grinned at him.

"You know what we should do?" he asked suddenly, glancing down at the water.

"No?" 

"Poohsticks," Porthos declared triumphantly. 

It was a somewhat chaotic game, as the current in the lake was negligible and driven entirely by a small stream that exited some distance to the east, but they both had fun and by the time they agreed on a draw and headed back to the cottage, Athos was looking a lot brighter.

On the doorstep Porthos handed him the flowers - a slightly reduced bunch, as several of the more wilted ones had been sacrificed as poohsticks. 

"I'd better get on," he said, adding, "but I'm always around, if you want anything. Come and bang on my door if you need to." Thinking that if Athos was prone to paralysing emotional breakdowns at the drop of a teapot, he might appreciate knowing there was someone he could call on.

"Thank you." Athos fussed with the flowers rather than meet his eye. "I'll try not to be a nuisance."

"Oh don't worry about that," Porthos said breezily. "After all this time on me own it's quite nice to have someone to talk to."

"Even if he's a pathetic excuse for a human being?" Athos sighed.

Porthos grinned at him. "Even then." 

\--

Despite the fact Porthos thought they'd got on rather well that morning, he didn't see Athos again for several days, even to wave to, and found himself worrying whether the man was alright. 

He vacillated over whether to knock on his door or not, having no wish to inflict his company where it wasn't wanted, but on the other hand experiencing a growing need to be sure Athos was okay. 

What he needed, Porthos decided, was a valid excuse.

He found it the next morning, having driven into the next town to visit the farmer's market. Inspiration sat waiting on a gaily coloured stall outside the town hall, and he drove home with it nestled on the passenger seat of his pick-up truck.

Having dropped his shopping off at home, Porthos cleaned himself up a little and walked down to the folly. To his relief Athos opened the door promptly to his knock, although looked remarkably surprised to see him considering Porthos was the only other person in the immediate vicinity.

"Hello." Athos gave him an uncertain smile. 

"Hi. I don't mean to bother you," Porthos said hastily, realising that Athos seemed perfectly fine and was probably just busy trying to get on with the business of being a hermit. "It's just - well, I saw this at the market this morning, and I thought, er, I thought you might like it." 

Porthos held out the box he was carrying, and after giving him a rather odd look, Athos took it. He lifted up the lid and Porthos was relieved when he instinctively smiled at the contents. A white teapot with a pattern of bright blue polka dots.

"How thoughtful. But you didn't have to do that?" Athos looked up at him, and Porthos shrugged. 

"I know. But - yeah. I did. So, um. Yeah." 

"You're very kind." Athos' initially hesitant smile was warmer now, and he bit his lip. "I'd better offer you a cup of tea then, hadn’t I?"

"Oh, you don't have to," Porthos said quickly. "If you'd rather be left in peace..?"

"No, really, it's fine," Athos ducked his head self-consciously. "Please. Come in."

Porthos followed him inside. It was cooler today, less conducive to sitting outside, and Athos waved him to a seat at the table.

"I should apologise," Athos said in a low voice, once the kettle was filled and heating on the hob. "For my shameful display the other morning."

Porthos looked up in surprise, and realised with a pang of sympathy that Athos had probably been avoiding him ever since out of embarrassment.

"I dropped an entire fried breakfast once," he offered, apropos of nothing. "I nearly cried like a baby. So nobody's gonna blame you for having a funny turn over bollocksing your best china. Especially given how you scalded yourself." He frowned, remembering. "How's your arm?" 

"It's fine, thank you," Athos nodded. "Probably would have blistered if it wasn't for you, so thank you." He sighed. "I'm not very good at looking after myself, sometimes."

"Well, I can't claim to be much better myself," Porthos admitted with a grin. "Adulthood seems a stretch, on a worryingly regular basis. But what I hopefully do get points for, is the fact that I also bought cake at the Farmer's Market this morning. How do you feel about lemon drizzle?" Porthos swung the plastic bag he'd been carrying up onto the table with a light thump.

"You have been busy." Athos seemed a little bewildered by the attention, but at least he was smiling. 

Over tea from the new pot and thick slices of lemon cake, they talked quietly for nearly an hour. Porthos quickly noticed Athos tended to deflect questions about himself and so led the conversation in less sensitive directions.

Athos seemed happier listening than talking, and let Porthos rattle on at length, nodding in all the right places and refilling his cup when necessary.

Eventually Porthos realised how long he'd been sitting there for, and was mildly embarrassed at taking up so much of Athos' time. 

"Sorry, you must think I'm a right slacker," Porthos said, feeling suddenly paranoid. "I should let you get on."

"I'm not exactly busy," Athos pointed out. "It's nice to have someone to talk to occasionally."

"I think I've been doing most of the talking," Porthos laughed. "You should tell me to shut up."

"Not at all." Athos walked with him to the door. "I just hope you don't think I'm terribly dull."

"Course not." In fact, Porthos was intrigued. He'd now spent some time conversing with the man and still knew virtually nothing about him. "Well, see you round eh? Come and say hi." 

"I will," Athos promised. "Thank you."

\--

True to his word and slightly to Porthos' surprise, Athos did indeed come over to say hello the next morning while Porthos was head down in a border and swearing at a particularly recalcitrant weed. Finally hauling it up by its roots he hurled it over his shoulder without looking and only turned round when he heard the muffled yelp.

Athos was standing on the path with a soil-spattered shirt, holding the offending groundsel in one hand.

"Shit, sorry!" Porthos waded out of the flowerbed and took it from him, dropping it into the wheelbarrow. He brushed the worst of the dirt off him, until Athos stepped back with a protesting hand.

"Really, it's fine, I shouldn't have been standing there."

"Should have looked where I was chucking things," Porthos apologised. "Lively little buggers, some of them," he grinned, relieved that Athos wasn't annoyed.

"So I see." 

"All organic," Porthos said proudly, waving an expansive arm at the rest of the garden. "I found a shed full of poisons and shit when I came here, but I don't like to use that sort of thing. It's more work doing it by hand, but it's more rewarding. And its not like there's anyone here to complain if the weeds get a bit ahead of me."

"I'm not sure I'd know a dandelion from a dahlia, so as long as the weeds are blooming it all looks good to me," said Athos with a slight smile.

"I'll pick you a bunch of dandelions next time then," Porthos laughed. 

"I was wondering if - if you had time for a cup of tea?" Athos said hesitantly. "You left the rest of that cake behind, and, well, it seemed rude to finish it off myself."

"Ah, cake and cup of tea, two of my favourite words. How can I refuse?" Porthos said enthusiastically, wiping his muddy hands on his jeans.

Athos looked a little nonplussed, as he quite often did when faced with Porthos, never quite sure how to answer some of the things he said, but he managed a smile anyway, and they walked slowly through the gardens together, enjoying the sunshine.

"I love it here," said Porthos happily. "Is it wrong to hope the owners never come back?"

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Athos asked.

Porthos shrugged. "Wouldn't be all mine any more would it? Garden's'd be full of guests and children and stuff. They'd need more gardeners too, to keep it properly. Probably get rid of me altogether."

"Don't see why," Athos said loyally. "You seem to be doing a fantastic job."

"Do you know them? The owners?" Porthos asked suddenly, as it occurred to him Athos had in all probability some connection to them to be here in the first place, and he possibly shouldn't be complaining.

"We've met," Athos said, after a slight hesitation.

"Oh. Right. You don't know if they're likely to then? Come back I mean?"

"What did they tell you?" Athos asked, unlocking his front door and leading the way inside. 

"Nothing, really," Porthos said, puzzled. "All my dealings go through an agency. I don't even know who the owners are, only that they shut the place up and went away about a year ago."

"A whole year. Is it really?" Athos said distantly, staring out of the window over the sink, gaze fixed somewhere over the lake.

"They were friends of yours then?"

"What?" Athos shook himself, and remembered he was supposed to be filling the kettle. "Oh. Yes, I suppose."

"They let you use this place, I mean?"

"Yes. Sorry, look, would you mind if we changed the subject?" Athos asked, looking suddenly anxious.

"Uh, no, course not. Sorry. Didn't mean to be nosy."

"That's alright. I just - um, sorry, would you mind seeing to the tea, I just need to, uh - I'll be right back." Athos slipped away upstairs and Porthos assumed he'd gone to the loo, except he didn't hear a flush. He suddenly remembered the basket of pills, and wondered guiltily if that was the refuge Athos was seeking, and if he'd driven him to it.

Athos was gone for a few minutes and when he came back he looked a little calmer, if slightly embarrassed. Porthos made no reference to his sudden exit, just poured him a cup of tea with a cheerful smile.

"Hope you don't mind, I poked about in your cupboards to find some plates," Porthos said, pushing a slice of cake towards him.

"Well I don't think there's anything very confidential in any of them," Athos conceded with a smile. "Although I did have to evict a family of mice from one when I moved in."

Porthos laughed. "I think I've got mice in my place," he said. "All sorts of scrabblings at night. I have to keep the cheese in a safe," he added with a straight face, and Athos gave him a startled look that softened into a reluctant smile.

"You're daft," he said, and Porthos nodded acceptance. 

"Sorry. Always have been. It's a failing. Here, do you think I could hire a mouse-whisperer?"

Athos' smile widened and Porthos grinned back at him, glad that he'd cheered him up. There was something terribly fragile about Athos that somehow made Porthos want to wrap him in protective blankets and keep him safe. The man never seemed to laugh, for a start. He smiled, with varying degrees of bemusement at whatever rubbish Porthos was coming out with at any given time, but that was all. Porthos wondered what he'd been through, and how well he was actually coping.

When Porthos went back to work it played on his mind a little, picturing Athos all alone in that cottage with nothing but his perhaps uncomfortable thoughts for company. He was used to a solitary existence himself but even Porthos craved social interaction from time to time. Athos never seemed to leave the grounds, had told Porthos that he had his groceries delivered. He didn't even have a car.

Porthos wondered if he was hiding from someone, or only from himself. 

\--

Over the next couple of weeks they repeatedly fell into each other's company. Sometimes they would walk through the grounds together, sometimes they would just sit and drink tea. 

On one especially warm evening, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, Porthos brought a bottle of wine across and they sat on the deck watching the sun sink behind the trees and the bats swooping over the water. 

He stole a glance across at Athos, sitting quiet and pensive in the dusk. He seemed sad but self-contained, and Porthos couldn't help wishing he would let him in a little more. He wondered if Athos had a therapist, but he'd never mentioned one. Not that Athos had ever referred to the fact of his breakdown at all after that first time, and Porthos sensed he was embarrassed by the thought of it.

Athos looked up just then, and caught Porthos watching him. Porthos smiled guiltily, half-expecting Athos to run away in flustered alarm, but he just smiled back, as if the calm softness of the night and the water had somehow seeped into his soul.

As Porthos walked back alone through the garden that night he examined his feelings, and realised with a heavy sense of inevitability that he was falling for the man. He'd always had a bit of a thing for lame ducks, and it had never ended well. But he lived in hope. 

He didn't even know if Athos was gay, he'd been as tight-lipped on the subject of past relationships as he'd been on everything else. Porthos' instincts said yes, but he'd been wrong before.

As he climbed into bed, leaving the curtains open to let the almost-full moon shine into the room, Porthos pictured Athos lying in his own bed watching the same moon, and sighed wistfully. 

It could only be a fantasy, he knew - regardless of Athos' preferences, he was obviously hardly in a good place to embark on a relationship and Porthos didn't want to accidentally screw him up even further. But as he fell asleep it was picturing Athos, still smiling at him through the half-light.

\--

The following morning Porthos was working in the walled kitchen garden, digging over a few of the beds. With the house unoccupied there'd been no vegetable crops laid down this year, but there were still a few things worth harvesting and he liked to keep things neat.

Stopping for a drink of water, he dug his watch out of his pocket and checked the time. It had just gone eleven, and he considered his options. He could walk back to his cottage or he could wander down to the folly and blag a cup of tea from Athos. Athos was considerably closer, and so he stacked his tools neatly and started walking down towards the lake.

As he went, a movement further down the slope caught his eye and he looked up, assuming that Athos was out for a walk and intending to intercept him. To his surprise, the man striding away from the cottage was a stranger to him, and it was only when he noticed the big black bag the man was carrying that he recalled Athos mentioning his doctor.

Porthos watched as the man walked up to a car parked at the end of the gravelled track leading round the house. Wrapped in a long dark coat despite the hot sun the man seemed somehow like a bird of ill omen, and Porthos couldn't suppress a shudder.

He wondered if he should leave Athos in peace after all. He might not be in the mood for visitors right now. On the other hand Porthos thought, he might be in need of a friend. Given that he was almost there in any case, he decided to walk past and play it by ear.

The door to the folly was closed as Porthos drew level, but one of the upstairs windows was open, and as Porthos stood there wondering whether to knock something came flying out of it as if hurled with great force and hit the grass near his feet with a rattling crack.

Porthos jumped and stared at the object in surprise, realising it was a pill bottle.

"Oi!" he called up at the window. "Missed!"

Athos' face suddenly appeared in the opening, looking pale and startled. When he saw Porthos standing there, his eyes widened. "Fuck," he said, and promptly disappeared again.

Porthos waited patiently, and sure enough a moment later the door was hauled open and Athos dashed out. His first instinct was not to speak to Porthos, but to scan the ground around him urgently, and snatch up the pills with a low moan of relief, stuffing them hastily out of view into his pocket.

"Sorry," he muttered, glancing up at Porthos and quickly away again, as if he couldn't bear to meet his gaze. "Didn't know you were here."

"That's okay. Thought it might just be revenge for the weeds the other day," Porthos joked, but Athos shook his head convulsively.

"Sorry," he said again. "Sorry, I - oh God." 

"Hey - it's alright." Porthos reached out in concern and laid a soothing hand on Athos' shoulder. The man was shaking like a leaf and Porthos couldn't help it, he drew Athos into a hug. Athos leaned against him passively, his hands resting on Porthos' chest, and his fast, nervous breathing gradually evened out as Porthos gently rubbed his back.

Eventually Athos found the strength to look up, and Porthos smiled at him. "You okay?"

Athos sighed. "That, is a very complicated question." He pulled reluctantly out of Porthos' arms, blushing slightly. 

"Then why don't you make me a cup of tea and tell me all about it?" Porthos suggested cheerfully. Athos immediately looked anxious again, and he hastily revised his offer. "Or, you could make me a cup of tea and I could just tell you all about how I nearly just put a garden fork through me welly because I was watching a dragonfly?" 

Athos raised a faint smile at that and nodded, leading Porthos indoors. 

By the second cup of tea a healthier colour had returned to Athos' face. Porthos had obligingly rambled on about inconsequential things until he'd relaxed, and was pleased to see he looked a little better.

"So. I suppose you saw my visitor?" Athos asked quietly, after a while.

Porthos looked at him in surprise, He'd expected Athos to avoid the topic completely, but was pleased that he apparently felt strong enough to discuss it. He nodded.

"I'm guessing that was the quack?"

Athos nodded silently.

"Everything alright?" Porthos ventured. "For a given value of alright, anyway," he added. Athos smiled at the distinction, but looked down at his hands and sighed.

"It's just - every time I start thinking that maybe I'm getting a little better, and maybe I can think about not having to take so much medication," he said shakily, "every time, he comes along and tells me nothing's changed. And it's so hard." 

Athos looked and sounded like he was on the verge of tears, and Porthos dragged his chair round the table until he was sitting next to him.

"Hey, come on, it's alright," he said comfortingly, putting an arm round Athos' shoulders. "If you're feeling better in yourself, isn't that the important thing?" 

"I guess." Athos sounded defeated, and Porthos hugged him. 

"Course it is. Look, if he's just dosing you up and you're not happy with it, why don't you get a second opinion?" 

Athos shook his head miserably. "It's complicated. I can't."

"Why not?" Porthos frowned. "Is he even a proper psychiatrist, or just a medical doctor?" he asked, then winced. "Not that I'm saying you need a psychiatrist."

Athos gave him a tired smile. "I was an in-patient," he said carefully. "For a while. Before I came here. A - private hospital."

Porthos nodded understanding, of the unspoken nature of said hospital. "And he's from there?"

"Yes. He's - monitoring me. My progress. Or lack of."

Athos looked mortified by these confessions, and Porthos rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. 

"Look, you're not doing so bad, are you? You keep this place going okay, you cook for yourself, you're always up and dressed and out in the fresh air. That's not a bad start is it? And if you think you're feeling stronger, then all the quacks in the world shouldn't tell you otherwise. Fuck 'em."

Athos managed a smile. "You're very kind."

"And you're too hard on yourself." Porthos tucked a stray strand of hair back behind Athos' ear and smiled at him. For once Athos didn't look away, instead stared back Porthos with eyes that were full of bewilderment and a tentative hope. Porthos had to resist the sudden urge to lean forward and kiss him.

"Why don't we make a fresh pot of tea, eh?" Porthos said firmly. "Then you can come up to the kitchen plot with me, there's some gooseberries need picking. You can do that while I try not to mangle my own foot in the veg beds okay?"

"Okay," Athos said obediently, with a faint smile. Porthos got up to fill the kettle, and ruffled Athos' hair affectionately as he went. 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next week Porthos found a succession of tasks for Athos to work at that kept his hands and mind occupied. Deadheading flowers, picking soft fruit; none of it was terribly demanding but Athos seemed to welcome it, or at least welcome Porthos' company.

The weather stayed fine, and as the days went by Porthos felt like he was watching Athos relax by inches. He smiled more, and was less given to the fits of paralysing anxiety that seemed to plague him. 

At the weekend, Porthos walked with Athos up to the orchard. It was on a sheltered slope to the east of the grounds, and a pleasantly shady spot to while away an hour or so. 

As they walked in through the rickety wooden gate there was a sudden burst of activity on the far side of the trees, and several diminutive figures could be seen scrabbling over the opposite wall and disappearing. Startled, Athos looked at Porthos and was puzzled by his lack of reaction.

"Who was that?" Athos asked.

"Just the kids," Porthos shrugged. "Scrumping I guess. Better than eating sweets I s'pose, eh?"

Athos looked more confused than ever. "What kids?"

"From the village. There's a group of them plays in the grounds sometimes. They don't do any harm so I leave 'em be." Porthos faltered, suddenly realising that Athos might not approve of this, or worse, might report his dereliction of duty back to his employers. "Do you think I've done wrong?"

Athos smiled and shook his head. "I think you're a very kind man."

"Soft touch, me." Porthos grinned at him, relieved. "Look, why don't we push on up the hill? You can see right down over the village from the top."

Athos agreed, and Porthos lead him across the orchard and over a low broken down section of wall into the field beyond. It was full of ripening corn, and the air seemed to whisper with the swish and rustle of the stalks. They walked together along the path at the field edge, the orchard wall giving way to a tall hedge laden with sloes and blackberries. It was sheltered there and they enjoyed the warmth, the dry earth crumbling underfoot as they slowly made their way up the slope.

From the top of the hill the village lay spread out beneath them in the valley - but the view wasn't the only thing revealed by the ascent, and Porthos eyed the dark thunder clouds that had been rolling in unseen with distinct misgivings.

"Uhh. I think it's going to twat it down."

Athos hid a smile. "I think you might be right. That doesn't look too good. Maybe we should make our way back?"

"Yeah." Porthos suddenly grinned and nudged him. "Race ya!"

"What?" Before Athos had time to react, Porthos had started running full pelt back down the hill, and he stared after him in surprise. "Hey!"

Athos started running after him, increasingly exhilarated by the speed of it. The hedgerow flashed past on his right, the waving sea of corn to his left just a golden blur. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground for fear of tripping on the ruts, and consequently didn't notice the way the path dropped away more steeply ahead of him, forgetting the initial steep climb from the orchard.

Suddenly he was going faster than ever, his feet running away with him and the pace of it the only thing preventing him from pitching face first down the hill.

Athos risked a look up and glimpsed Porthos waiting for him at the bottom, laughing at his rapid approach.

"Help! I can't stop!" Athos yelped, more amused than afraid, but unable to see how it was going to end in anything but bruises and embarrassment.

Instead of jumping out of his way as he passed, Porthos reached out to catch Athos square in his arms, absorbing the shock of his descent against his chest with merely a half-step backwards to show for it. 

"Gotcha." 

Out of breath and half-stunned, Athos stared up into his eyes, heart hammering. Porthos' arms were wrapped firmly around his waist and somehow Athos' own were locked around his neck, and for a long moment neither of them moved.

Porthos smiled at him, unable to look away. Athos seemed no more inclined to pull away than he was to let go, and eventually Porthos gave in to the urge he'd been harbouring for days, and softly kissed him.

Other than giving an initial quiet noise of surprise, Athos didn't protest. His mouth yielded to Porthos' lips, and for a long, perfect, unhurried minute they kissed each other deeply.

When Porthos finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Athos', and held him close. 

"Is this okay?" he whispered.

Athos nodded, shaky but definite. "Yes," he breathed, and Porthos kissed him again, harder this time, full of a sudden wild joy.

As they stood there the heavens opened and the rain started to fall in a stinging shower, quickly soaking them. In the distance the rumbles of thunder were drawing closer, and Porthos laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

After a second he realised Athos was laughing too, hair plastered to his face. They caught each other's gaze and shared a smile, laughing all the harder, kissing each other frantically in the increasingly hard downpour.

Soon though, Porthos realised Athos was shivering. He was only wearing a thin shirt and it was stuck to his body, turned almost translucent by the rain.

Porthos drew him closer again, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "You're cold." 

"Am I?" Athos just smiled up at him. "I hadn't noticed," he breathed.

Porthos laughed. "Come on. Let's get you indoors before you catch your death. You look like a drowned rat." 

They hurried back through the orchard and gardens and Athos let them into the folly. While he went to find towels and dry clothes, Porthos got the kettle going, and they were soon feeling a lot more comfortable. 

Making a face, Athos pushed his wet hair back into a small ponytail and Porthos laughed at him, scrubbing a hand through his own.

"You should have the wipe-clean version like me."

With a slight smile Athos reached tentatively up to touch his close-cropped hair, and Porthos took the opportunity to slide his arms around Athos' waist. He was pleased when Athos leaned in against him rather than pulling away, and after a moment he took a chance and kissed him.

Afterwards Athos ducked his head with a rather shy smile, and Porthos ran the back of his finger down Athos' cheek. "Is this still okay?" he checked, wondering if now the adrenaline had worn off Athos was regretting it. To his relief, Athos nodded.

"Yes. It's just - " Athos hesitated, looking embarrassed. "I've - never kissed a man before," he admitted quietly.

"No?" Porthos was surprised. _Got that wrong then_ , he thought, and then - _well, maybe not_. Athos hadn't exactly objected. "Should I stop?"

Athos shook his head, and wound his arms back around Porthos' neck. "No."

Pleased, Porthos carried on kissing him with considerable enthusiasm, but after a while Athos became rather fidgety and eventually broke away.

Wrapping his arms around himself defensively he seemed abruptly more anxious then before, a frown creasing his forehead and his eyes flicking restlessly from one spot to another as if watching something play out, or carrying on an internal conversation.

Porthos wondered if he'd made a mistake pushing things too quickly, if he should have backed off a little when he realised Athos hadn't done this before, but until now Athos had seemed entirely up for it.

"You okay?" he ventured, sipping his tea and keeping his tone studiedly casual. If he'd learnt anything about Athos it was that he hated being reminded there was anything wrong with him.

"Yeah. Sorry." Athos sounded tight and breathless, and shook his head sharply as if he'd been bitten by something. "It's not you. Sorry. It's me."

"I've heard that before," Porthos said with a low laugh. "Usually just before I get dumped."

That actually got a smile, and Athos gave him a look that was both pleading and apologetic. "Ignore me," he said. "I'm being stupid. I just - sometimes my head just won't shut up, you know?"

"Tell me." Porthos settled his arms cautiously back around him, and Athos immediately nestled against him thankfully. Porthos stroked his hair, pulling out the hairband and teasing out the wet locks over his shoulders. "Talk to me," he murmured. "You can you know."

Athos gave another tight shake of the head, but he didn't pull away. "There's nothing to tell," he said quietly. "It's just my head being stupid. I get these - I don't know. Images. Impulses. False premonitions." He gave a huff of bitter laughter. "Intrusive thoughts, they told me to call them. Like they're not part of me."

Porthos nodded. "Tell me how to help," he said quietly.

Athos looked up at him. "Distract me?"

"I could do a striptease?"

However fleeting, the laugh was genuine and Porthos grinned at him, rocking Athos side to side in his arms. "Too much? Okay. Something more tasteful then." He carried on stroking Athos' hair, which seemed to be soothing him, and kissed him on the forehead.

"You need something else to concentrate on," Porthos said. "A memory or something. Somewhere you felt safe, and happy. Think of a cornfield," he suggested. "And a summer storm. And the sound of birdsong, and the smell of rain on baked earth. And some idiot kissing you."

Athos' eyes had half closed as he listened to Porthos painting the picture, and he smiled at this last.

"Would the same idiot consider kissing me again, do you think?" Athos murmured.

Porthos grinned. "I think you'll find the tricky part is getting him to stop."

\--

With Athos feeling calmer they spent the rest of the day together, curled on the sofa and listening to the thunderstorm roll ponderously overhead. Athos tended to flinch at the louder claps of thunder and then immediately look embarrassed, but Porthos didn't say a word, just hugged him all the tighter.

By sunset the rain had stopped, and they opened the windows to let in the scent of the wet garden. Athos made them supper, and Porthos wondered how things could feel so comfortably domestic so quickly. There'd been a lot of kissing that afternoon, but also a lot of talking, and Porthos could feel himself falling hard and fast. 

He still knew next to nothing about Athos, the man was an expert at evading personal questions, but it no longer seemed to matter. They were here, together, now, and nothing else was important.

"Guess I should probably go home," Porthos sighed eventually, when it was fully dark outside and Athos had been yawning for some time. He was loathe to leave the cosy room and relinquish Athos from his arms, and was heartened to notice Athos looked equally reluctant to see him go.

"Unless - you'd like me to stay?" Porthos ventured.

Athos immediately looked awkwardly alarmed, and Porthos stroked his arm reassuringly. 

"Just to sleep I mean. We don't have to rush into anything." 

Athos bit his lip, wavering between nerves and desire. "We wouldn't - ?"

Porthos shook his head firmly. "Scout's honour. I'll be on my best behaviour."

"Were you really a scout?" Athos asked, smirking slightly.

"Technically no. But I give a whole new meaning to bob-a-job."

Athos choked with laughter and Porthos rested his chin on Athos' shoulder, giving him puppy eyes. 

"Would you rather I just went home?" he asked quietly. "I don't want to push you."

"No." Athos reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. "I'd like you to stay. Very much."

Porthos beamed, sitting up again and kissing him lightly on the lips. "You can trust me," he promised. 

Athos nodded. "I do," he said. "I really do."

\-- 

The next morning Porthos woke early. Athos didn't have any curtains, and the summer sun was already pouring through the windows as if trying to pretend the storm had never happened.

Athos was asleep next to him, curled towards him with one hand tucked under his cheek and looking more peaceful than Porthos had ever seen him.

Having climbed into bed together the night before they'd kissed and held each other, but no more. Porthos was still wearing boxers and his vest; Athos had pulled on a t-shirt rather than his pyjamas, a concession to both the temperature and the situation.

It had been rather nice. 

Porthos had no wish to screw things up by trying to take this too fast, but to his relief Athos had shown no hesitancy when it came to lying down with him, and there'd been no disguising the fact that both of them had quickly become aroused. True to his word Porthos hadn't tried to take things any further, although he'd have been more than willing if Athos had initiated anything.

He lay there watching Athos sleep, carefully resettling himself without waking him. Porthos hoped Athos would be open to taking the next step, once he was comfortable with the way things were going. For someone who'd never been with a man and given his general levels of anxiety, he'd seemed remarkably sanguine about the whole experience so far, and Porthos assumed he must have at least considered the possibility before. 

He found himself wishing Athos would open up a little more. Maybe he would, now they were in a relationship. Were they? Porthos sighed. They'd kissed each other, agreed to spend the night together, but neither of them had raised the issue of what this meant for the future. 

After lying there for some time indulging in a certain amount of pleasant fantasising, Porthos was finally forced to get up and answer the call of nature. When he came out again Athos was awake, bright eyes watching him speculatively from where he was rolled in the duvet.

"Morning." Porthos smiled down at him. "Would you like me to bring you some tea?"

Athos smiled back, shyly pleased. "I should bring you some," he said. "I'm being a terrible host. How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," Porthos lied. "You stay there, I'll brew up." He padded barefoot down the stairs and set about making tea. He could hear Athos moving about upstairs, but after a while the floorboards stopped creaking and he hoped Athos had got back into bed. He rather fancied the idea of snuggling up with him again.

Carrying the mugs carefully up the narrow stairs he was pleased to find Athos sitting up in bed waiting for him. 

"Hey." Porthos set them down on the little table and was relieved when Athos pulled back the covers, silently inviting him to get back in with him.

"Hey." Athos accepted his tea with a smile, and leaned amiably against Porthos' side as Porthos draped a careful arm around his shoulders.

They stole sideways glances at each other as they drank their tea, conversation still sleepy and minimal. When the mugs were empty, Porthos cleared his throat.

"So. Can I, er - can I kiss you?"

Athos' instinctive reaction was to blush and duck his head, but he nodded.

"I should think that would be allowable, yes," he smiled, and Porthos laughed delightedly, hooking an arm round Athos' waist and drawing him down under the covers.

\--

The week that followed felt idyllic. The weather stayed dry and warm, and they spent most of it in each other's company either lazing in the grounds or snuggled up in the folly. 

Whenever Porthos experienced a prickling of guilt and suggested he should probably be doing rather more work than he was currently managing, Athos would just wind his arms around Porthos' neck and kiss him. "Who's going to know?" he'd ask with a smile, and Porthos always gave in.

Nights were spent exclusively in Athos' bed. Now they'd found each other they could hardly bear to be apart, and were gradually exploring the possibilities. They still hadn't gone the whole way, but they'd very quickly graduated to sleeping naked and to bringing each other off, gently at first, and night by night with increasing confidence and passion.

Athos still had times when he was plagued by doubts and anxiety, but he swore that none of these downswings meant he was having second thoughts. Porthos learned that the best thing he could do was just to keep quiet and hold him, letting Athos hide from the world in his arms without having to explain himself.

At the end of the week though, Athos woke in a much jumpier mood than usual, and finally confessed to Porthos that he had an appointment that morning.

Porthos was briefly confused, then remembered the ominous doctor.

"Oh, right. Of course. I'll, um, make myself scare then?" he offered, staring at Athos across the breakfast table, still clutching a slice of toast and marmalade.

"Would you? Thank you." Athos looked relieved and guilty at the same time. "Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologising to me you know," Porthos told him, and Athos gave him a sheepish smile.

"And yet, I almost certainly will," he sighed. "It's a hard habit to break, especially when I'm convinced I'm permanently in the wrong."

Porthos came round the table and draped his arms around Athos' shoulders, kissing him on the top of the head. "Will you be okay?" he asked.

Athos nodded, tilting his head back to look up at him. Porthos leaned over to kiss him on the lips for good measure. 

"I'll drop round later this afternoon?" Porthos ventured, and was relieved when Athos nodded. "Okay. I'll see you later then. You've got my mobile, yeah, if you need me sooner?"

Athos nodded again gratefully, and before Porthos could leave pulled him down for another kiss.

"I'm sorry I'm a hopeless pain," he whispered.

Porthos grinned. "You're not a pain."

"What about hopeless?"

Porthos held up finger and thumb a little way apart and Athos gave a snort of laughter. 

"Piss off and dig up some flowerbeds or whatever it is you do."

"Yes sir." Porthos gave him a mock salute and sauntered out.

\--

Porthos spent most of the morning feeling unaccountably nervous and unable to settle. He told himself that the fact Athos was regularly and presumably voluntarily seeing a doctor was a good thing, but he couldn't help remembering how miserable Athos had been after the man's last visit. Surely leaving your patient in a worse mental state than when you'd arrived was hardly good practice?

Porthos wished he knew the details, but had promised himself he wouldn't press Athos to reveal more than he was comfortable with. 

He'd gone back to his cottage for some lunch and was just washing up his plate and mug when a knock at the door made him jump. He hardly ever got visitors, and assuming it was probably just the postman he pulled it open to find Athos standing there.

"Hello!" Porthos stared at him in surprise. In all the time they'd spent together, Athos had never yet been to his cottage. This hadn't particularly been by design, simply how things had fallen. Porthos lived on the opposite side of the grounds from Athos, and the fact that Athos had walked all the way over here rather than calling immediately worried him. 

"Is everything alright? Er - here, come in." Porthos stepped back hurriedly and ushered Athos inside, leading him into the kitchen. "How did it go?" he prompted, when several seconds had ticked past and Athos still hadn't said anything.

Athos looked troubled, and Porthos reached out to take his hands. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Did he keep you on the same dosage?" he guessed, remembering Athos' lament of the previous visit, and sensing that Athos would have been hoping for a reduction, particularly in view of how much happier he'd been lately.

Athos drew his hands out of Porthos' and paced round the kitchen, as if needing the time to find the words. Porthos hauled himself up to sit on the scrubbed oak table, patiently watching him and out of his way.

"He said - that he doesn't think it's good for me to be in a relationship," Athos blurted suddenly. He wheeled round, his back to the old slate fireplace, and stared at Porthos in something like desperation. "He says it's too soon, and that I'm not ready," he added tightly. "That he thinks it will do more harm than good."

"Bollocks," growled Porthos, sliding off the table and coming across to him. "I may not be a shrink, but anyone can see how much better you've been these last few weeks. I've not imagined that, have I?" he asked, a little plaintively.

Athos shook his head. "You make me happy," he said in a low voice. "More than I can say."

"Then - that's what matters. Isn't it?" Porthos asked, confused. "Why would he say otherwise? Is he - is it because I'm a man?"

"No. I don't think that came into it." Athos looked conflicted and anxious and Porthos wanted to pull him into his arms, but wasn't a hundred percent sure that Athos wasn't breaking up with him. He didn't want that to happen, but neither did he want to force Athos to go against the advice of his doctor.

"Then I don't understand," Porthos said forlornly. "What harm does he think I'll do?"

Athos shook his head tightly. "I don't know. I don't _know_." He pushed his hands into his hair and gave a frustrated sigh. "Look, I - there's some stuff - some stuff happened, okay? And - it's stuff I'm not really ready to face yet." 

"Okay. I see."

"Do you?" Athos stared at him pleadingly. "I suppose what I'm saying is - is it a deal breaker? If I don't tell you? If I can't tell you? If - maybe if I can't ever tell you?"

Taken aback but hopeful that Athos didn't seem to be calling it a day after all, Porthos shook his head. "If that's what you want," he said. "I guess I can deal with that. Okay. Man of mystery it is then." He offered Athos a tentative smile, and Athos finally seemed to let some of the tension seep out of his rigid frame.

"You mean that?"

"Yeah," said Porthos softly. "I like you Athos. An awful lot. I don't wanna lose you already."

Athos sagged with relief, and Porthos finally pulled him into his arms and held him tightly. "It's okay," Porthos murmured. "It'll all be okay. I promise."

Athos nodded, his face buried against Porthos' shoulder. "I don't care what the stupid man says," he declared. "I'm not going to let anything spoil this." 

"Attaboy." Porthos gave him a squeeze. "That's the spirit."

After a while Athos took a deep breath and straightened up. "Sorry," he said, giving Porthos a rueful smile. "I'm a mess. But I'm your mess, if you still want me?"

"Course I bloody do."

"Then - will you make love to me?" Athos asked shyly.

Porthos looked at him in surprise. "Yes? Of course. If you want me to? But - are you sure? It's a big step, if you've not done it before. We don't have to rush into anything."

Athos shook his head. "I'm sure," he said softly. "I want you. I want to be yours."

Porthos smiled at him, drawing Athos in for a slow kiss. "Then I am entirely at your disposal."

It became apparent that Athos did in fact mean right now, and Porthos laughed at his eagerness, flattered and turned on in equal measure.

"I'm supposed to be working," he said reprovingly. 

"I won't tell if you won't. Come on, I've not even seen your bedroom yet. Take me upstairs before I lose my nerve."

Porthos frowned. "If you're that iffy about it, maybe we shouldn't - " The rest of his sentence was lost because Athos was kissing him.

"Shut up and fuck me," Athos whispered, and Porthos gave in. He'd wanted this from the start in any case, and if Athos had decided he was ready, who was he to object?

He lead Athos upstairs to his bedroom, glad that it was neat and tidy for once, mostly because he'd been spending all his time at the folly. 

The old stone gamekeeper's cottage had small windows and was rather dark inside, but Porthos had tried to make it cosy with rugs and lamps and candles. The bed had a patchwork quilt on it, and they sat next to each other, holding hands.

"You sure you're sure about this?" Porthos asked. "You can always change your mind you know."

Athos smiled at him. "That's what I like about you," he said. "You always make me feel so safe."

"I just want you to be happy," Porthos said. "I don't know what you've been through, and it's none of my business, but I promise I will never, ever hurt you."

Athos lifted Porthos' hand and kissed him on the inside of his wrist. "I trust you," he whispered. "And I want you. I want this. Okay?"

"Okay." Porthos smiled, and leaned in to kiss him properly. "I'm convinced."

It was slow, and warm, and loving. They took their time; now they'd both declared their intent there was no need for haste. 

The afternoon faded into evening, and they lay entwined in the sheets, listening to a blackbird singing outside the window they'd thrown open, hot and breathless from their exertions. 

Porthos had taken the utmost care to be tender, and Athos had proved as willing and eager as he had promised, giving himself up to Porthos' touch with utter trust. 

The initial, inevitable element of hesitancy and discomfort had been thankfully brief, talking each other through it with kisses and reassurances and laughter. Mutual pleasure came quickly, and they spent hours exploring, experimenting, bringing each other to climax over and over again.

When it was dark, Porthos lit candles around the room and fetched them food, thinking that returning to find Athos wrapped in nothing but his quilt was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

They stayed in the bed all evening, too caught up in each other to want to be anywhere else, and when the candles had burned down, they finally fell asleep curled contentedly around each other in the warm darkness.

\--

When Porthos woke the next morning he sensed something was wrong before he opened his eyes. Reaching out he found he was alone in the bed and sat up blearily. 

"Athos?"

The scuffling noises he'd been half-aware of and that had woken him up proved to be Athos struggling frantically into his clothes.

"Sorry. Sorry, I - " 

"Athos, are you okay?" Blinking the sleep from his eyes and realising with a sinking feeling that all was not well.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, I - sorry." Flustered and out of breath Athos dashed out of the door. A few seconds later Porthos heard the front door slam, and fell back against the pillows with a groan.

"Shit." 

Had they brought this on themselves, he wondered, so blithely ignoring the advice of Athos' doctor? On the other hand, last night Athos had seemed entirely at ease with everything they'd been doing, so Porthos was inclined to think it wasn't a freak-out related to the sex. Who knew what went on in Athos' head though?

Porthos heaved himself out of bed and started to get dressed. Half of him wondered whether he should give Athos some space to calm down and leave him in peace for a bit, but the other half knew he wouldn't be able to settle until he knew Athos was alright. If this was his fault for encouraging Athos to keep seeing him, then it was up to him to manage the fall-out.

It was still early, and the lawns and verges were wet with morning dew. By the time he reached the folly Porthos' shoes were soaked, in too much of a hurry to go the long way round by the paths.

The front door was standing open, and he mounted the step cautiously. Athos was inside, sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.

Porthos knocked gently on the open door. "Athos?"

Athos' head shot up, and to Porthos' infinite relief his expression was one of startled hope.

"Porthos?" 

Porthos stepped inside, strode across to meet Athos as he was rising from the sofa and automatically took him into his arms. Athos clung to him, and Porthos hugged him tight, relieved beyond measure that whatever had happened that morning it apparently wasn't his fault.

"It's alright," he murmured. "I've got you." 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Athos was practically quivering in his arms, and Porthos kissed him on the forehead.

"It's okay. It's okay," he soothed. "What happened? Can you tell me?"

Athos gave a shaky nod. "I suddenly realised - I hadn't taken my meds," he admitted. "I should have taken some last night, and then again this morning when I woke up. I panicked. I'm sorry I ran out on you like that, I tried to explain but I couldn't get the words out." Athos took a shuddering breath. "I was convinced I'd fucked everything up."

"No. No, of course you haven't," Porthos told him, relieved it was nothing worse. "Are you okay now?"

Athos gave him a wry smile. "You keep asking me that. I'm never quite sure how much detail you want me to go into."

"Yeah, right. Sorry." Porthos winced, but Athos smiled at him.

"I'm okay for now," he said quietly. "Functioning, anyway. More or less. Feeling daft, as usual."

Porthos pulled him into another hug. "You don't have to feel daft. I know things get on top of you sometimes. You don't have to worry about screwing things up, okay? I will always let you explain. I promise."

Athos nodded. "Thank you." He sighed. "I don't deserve you."

"Not that bad am I?" Porthos grinned, and Athos gave a tired laugh, resting his head on Porthos' shoulder.

"So - was last night okay?" Porthos ventured after a moment. 

"It was more than okay." Athos wound his arms around Porthos' waist. "And I would very much like to do it again, if I've not succeeded in scaring you off yet."

Porthos laughed. "Take more than that. Maybe we stay here tonight though, eh? Where you're comfortable, and you've got everything you need?"

Athos nodded, then frowned. "Not quite everything. I don't, er - I don't have any condoms," he admitted, going scarlet.

Porthos sniggered, and kissed him. "That's alright," he promised. "I come equipped."

\--

As August slid into September they settled into a comfortable companionship. Porthos resumed his hard graft in the gardens, but Athos was never far away, either assisting him in some fashion or frequently dropping by with drinks and food or simply kisses. 

They spent most of their nights at the folly, but did occasionally stay in Porthos' cottage now, careful to make sure Athos had everything he needed with him before they settled down for the night.

When Porthos discovered that Athos literally hadn't been off the estate since he'd arrived, he offered to take him out to places. Athos flatly refused to go into the village or the nearby market town, pleading anxiety, but agreed to go to places where there would be no people around. They made a few trips out together, walking in deserted woodlands or across isolated moors, happy enough in their own seclusion. 

One afternoon though, Athos seemed unaccountably more restless than usual and Porthos did a quick calculation.

"Must be nearly time for that doctor of yours to come round again?" he said neutrally.

Athos twitched. "Tomorrow," he admitted. He looked at his watch. "Is it too early for a drink, do you think?"

Porthos shrugged. "It's gone four, so I guess not. Are you sure you should be drinking though, on those meds?" he ventured. It was something that he'd wondered about before now, although he'd held his tongue, assuming Athos knew what he was doing.

"I can have the occasional glass," Athos told him. "It doesn't seem to hurt. I can't get drunk any more, it makes me sick. Probably just as well," he sighed. "The way I feel sometimes, if I could drink I'd probably be an alcoholic as well as a basketcase."

Porthos came over and put his arms round him. "You're not a basketcase."

"I am though." Athos gave a rueful sigh.

"Well, then you're the prettiest basket I ever saw," Porthos declared, making him smile. "And one I am very happy to have on my arm."

\--

The next morning Porthos made himself scarce again, although he didn't go far, working in the flower borders not far from the folly. He wanted to be on hand if Athos needed him afterwards, knowing how much he'd been dreading the appointment. 

Porthos was still firm in his belief that once the doctor saw continuous improvement in Athos he would accept that the relationship was beneficial, or at least not doing any harm. Athos seemed less convinced they would eventually receive his blessing, but as Athos tended to have a pessimistic view of almost everything, Porthos didn't take much notice.

He had offered to stay and be present for the consultation, but Athos had declined. Porthos half-wondered if Athos intended to lie and just say they were no longer seeing each other, which might after all be the simplest solution, if counter-productive in terms of doctor-patient honesty.

This suspicion proved groundless when the doctor emerged from the folly afterwards and instead of heading straight for his car looked carefully around, clearly searching for Porthos. 

Porthos straightened up and nodded to him, and to his surprise the man came over, trailed at a distance by Athos, who looked as pale and drawn as he normally did after these appointments. No easing off from the medication yet then, Porthos guessed. 

"Porthos DuVallon?"

"Yes, that's right." Porthos wiped a muddy hand on his jeans and held it out. The doctor's handshake was as limp as a dead haddock, and Porthos had to resist the urge to wipe his hand again afterwards.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, but I just wanted to meet you. I understand you are fully aware of the treatment that Athos is undergoing, and that this is a long-term process?"

"Yes, of course." Porthos frowned. "I just want to help him."

The doctor pursed his lips. "Well, in the circumstances, I must say that is very - understanding of you. Given the history. I must say I was afraid Athos was placing too much on the strength of this - forgive me for saying - rather unexpected, relationship. But if you are fully aware of the background and still determined to support him then perhaps it will after all help him come to terms with what happened."

Porthos was conscious of Athos hovering in the background a short distance away looking more and more anxious by the second, clearly wanting to come over and interrupt and not quite having the courage to.

"Yeah, I - look, I don't know exactly what happened to Athos, but I promise I'm here for him, okay?" Porthos said sincerely.

"Oh. Sorry, I had assumed - he hasn't actually told you then?"

Porthos shook his head. "I don't need to know. Not if he's not ready to tell me what happened to him. I don't want to push," he said quietly.

"Mmn. It's less a question of what happened to him, and more of what he did, of course. But that's for him to disclose, naturally. I wish you luck, Mr DuVallon. And please let it be noted that I did try to warn you both that this was inadvisable." He gave a brisk nod of dismissive farewell and walked off towards his car. 

Somewhat poleaxed, Porthos looked across at Athos, only to find he was already more than halfway back to the folly. He followed, feeling confused.

"Athos?" Porthos walked in to find Athos sunk in a chair, looking so drained and utterly bereft that it frightened him. "What did he mean? What happened, Athos? What - what did you do?"

Athos looked at him blankly. "You promised," he breathed. "You promised you didn't need to know. That it didn't matter to you."

"Yeah, I know, but - " Porthos faltered, realising that Athos was right, he had. The trouble was he also knew he was too curious to leave this alone. "Look, it's okay. Whatever happened, we can face it yeah? Together. You can tell me."

Athos shook his head. "I can't," he said. "You'll leave me."

"I won't!" Porthos protested, but Athos just gave a resigned sigh. 

"You will. And you would be right to. Perhaps they're right after all. I don't deserve to be happy. I should have told you before."

"Athos, you're frightening me. What happened, that was so bad?" Porthos sank down into the adjacent chair and reached for Athos' hand, but he drew back out of reach, regarding Porthos with sad eyes that were full of pain.

"I killed my wife," he said quietly. 

This was so far from anything Porthos had expected to hear that he physically sat back in astonishment. 

"You - what?"

"You heard," Athos said tiredly. "Don't make me say it again, I beg you."

"You - killed your - what was it, like - a car crash or something?" Porthos asked, desperately trying to make sense of this confession, and thinking that it would explain Athos' guilt and subsequent breakdown. But Athos shook his head.

"No. I killed her," he repeated in a subdued tone that was drained of hope.

"You mean - like, you shot her or something?" Porthos asked in disbelief.

"No. Strangled." Athos' voice was dispassionate and distant, as though he was relating events that had happened to someone else.

Porthos got to his feet so quickly he almost knocked the chair over, but Athos didn't flinch.

"What was it like - a sex thing?" Porthos asked dubiously, still scrabbling for a rational explanation, however awful. 

Athos shook his head. "She was having an affair," he said dully. "With one of my friends. She was rubbing my nose in it. I was angry," he said quietly. "And drunk. I had my hands round her throat, and - "

"Stop it - stop it, shut up!" Porthos interrupted, backing away from him in increasing horror.

Athos looked up at him, but there was no expectation of forgiveness in his gaze. "You said you'd always let me explain," he protested softly. 

"Explain? Athos you're telling me you murdered your own wife!" Porthos cried. "How the hell do you even begin to explain that? Was it self-defence? Are you trying to tell me she deserved it?"

"No. No, of course not." Athos hung his head. "What I did - was unforgivable."

"No wonder you wanted to keep it quiet." Porthos started moving towards the door, seized by a shuddering sense of revulsion. "You weren't going to tell me were you?"

"Can you blame me?" Athos sighed. "Don't leave me Porthos. Please. You're all I've got left," he begged, and when he looked up there were tears in his eyes.

Porthos shook his head violently. "I - can't be here. I'm sorry Athos. What you're saying - what you _are_ \- you stay away from me, okay? You stay the fuck away." 

With that he turned and hurried through the door, trying to block out the sound of Athos now openly and brokenly sobbing behind him.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos walked home in a daze. In all his private speculations of what might have happened to cause Athos' breakdown, a violently murderous rage had never entered his head. Athos was one of the gentlest people he'd ever met. But then, his treacherous brain pointed out, Athos was existing in a constant state of being drugged to the eyeballs. He had no idea what Athos' personality had been like before he'd started on the medication.

Practically in tears himself, Porthos let himself into the cottage and lay down on the bed, feeling drained and sickly miserable. Athos had lied to him from the start - okay, not lied exactly, but deliberately withheld the facts. 

He rolled over, face down in the pillow that still smelt faintly of Athos. They'd lain here together the night before last, making love, holding each other close, whispering promises. All gone now. All based on deceit. He'd fallen in love with a murderer. 

Suddenly repulsed, Porthos sprang to his feet and stripped off all the bedding, staggering down to the utility room and bundling it into the washing machine. He leaned against the cold stone wall, blankly watching the overloaded and ancient machine grind through its cycle.

He could have forgiven Athos almost anything else, he realised. Even murder - if it had turned out he'd shot someone in a bank robbery, or hit someone with his car, or glassed someone in a bar fight - anything but the intimate and appalling murder of a woman he should have loved, a woman who had surely trusted him to keep her safe.

The knowledge sat heavily in the pit of his stomach like a stone. Not least, all his own broken promises to Athos, to keep him safe, to stand by him no matter what. Did promises made to a wife-beater count, Porthos wondered bleakly.

It would have been easier if he could have just shut off his feelings with the knowledge of what Athos had done, but they were all still there under the surface, the love, the affection, the desire. He'd never told Athos he loved him, Porthos realised now. Something to be thankful for, at least.

\--

About halfway through the afternoon, Porthos was roused from a fitful doze by someone knocking on his front door. Having made up the bed with fresh sheets, he'd been lying on his back staring blankly at the ceiling ever since, and at some point had fallen asleep.

Cautiously, he edged to the window and peered down. His heart and stomach abruptly tried to change places when he recognised Athos standing below, and he ducked back behind the curtain so he couldn't be seen.

After a minute or so Athos knocked again. Porthos stayed where he was, frozen to the spot, until Athos gave up and walked dejectedly away. 

Porthos didn't move until Athos was out of sight, then collapsed onto the bed. Could he go on working here, he wondered? It wasn't fair on him to have to find another job. Maybe Athos would leave instead. 

What was he even doing here in the first place? For that matter, why wasn't he in prison? Porthos suddenly wondered if Athos' allusions to his time in a mental hospital had actually been that. Maybe it had been a secure unit.

He sighed, feeling heartsick. The hardest part was believing deep down that everything Athos had said to him, had felt for him, had been genuine. Porthos just didn't think he could go on seeing him, knowing what he did now, and he hated himself for that as much as he hated Athos for hiding the truth.

\--

The next couple of days were amongst the worst of Porthos' life. He skulked about the grounds, spying on Athos from afar and telling himself it was purely so he could get on with his work at a safe distance, knowing they wouldn't cross paths. As Athos barely left the house this wasn't difficult, but shaking Athos from his thoughts was harder. 

Porthos went about in a distracted gloom. Maybe he'd been stuck out here too long, he thought. Maybe he should go back to the city, go back to the weekly round of clipping posh people's topiary in poncy townhouses and persuading roses to flourish in roof gardens. But he loved the garden here, and Porthos knew leaving would be a terrible wrench. 

The thought of what he would be leaving in addition to the gardens he pushed firmly to the back of his mind.

Despite his best efforts to put Athos out of his thoughts, on the evening of the third day he found himself sitting at dusk on the slope beneath the orchard wall, looking down over the lake. The fact that he had a perfect view of the folly from here was entirely incidental he told himself, as a light came on downstairs and a shadow passed behind one of the windows.

He wondered what Athos was doing. Brewing tea in the pot Porthos had given him? Measuring out a glass of wine to have with his dinner? Was he still sad, or just resigned? Had he cried for long when Porthos had left? He hadn't been back to knock on Porthos' door again. Were the pills keeping him going? They hadn't always been enough to keep him on an even keel.

Porthos suddenly realised that half this surveillance was down to the fear Athos might do something stupid. At least while he knew Athos was still keeping body and soul together, Porthos could keep the guilt at bay.

He took a swig from the bottle of beer he'd brought with him and sighed, looking unfavourably at the sky. Another storm was rolling in, and Porthos guessed that in less than half an hour it would be crashing down around them.

He remembered Athos flinching in his arms from the thunder and frowned crossly, pushing the image away and draining his beer. He should go home. Invading Athos' privacy wasn't doing either of them any favours.

Before he could move the door to the folly opened and a warm light spilled out over the grass. Porthos froze, not wanting to draw Athos' eye if he came outside. He knew he was probably fairly invisible in the fading light, but being caught spying would be embarrassing in the extreme.

Sure enough, a moment later Athos stepped outside, but his gaze was downcast and his tread was heavy and slow as if he was bearing all the weight of the world. He was barefoot, Porthos noticed, wincing as Athos crossed the gravel path and stepped down towards the lake.

Rather than stopping once he reached the shoreline Athos kept moving forward, stepping into the water and slowly wading deeper. The ripples caught the last rays of the sunset and raced outwards, gilded with bronze fire.

"Athos?" Porthos frowned, wondering what the hell he was up to. Apart from the lack of shoes Athos was fully dressed, and by now he was up to his waist and showed no signs of stopping.

The lake was deep in the centre, and as Athos moved further out Porthos slowly rose to his feet with building apprehension. 

"Athos? What are you doing?" he said to himself, willing Athos to stop and turn around, or at least start swimming.

Athos though, kept purposefully wading deeper, chest height, neck height, chin height. In another couple of seconds he'd disappeared from view completely, and Porthos stared at the surface for several paralysed seconds, waiting for him to reappear. 

The surface remained unbroken apart from a few rising bubbles and Porthos suddenly regained the use of his legs.

"Athos!" He barrelled down the slope towards the lake, hurdling a small wall and only pausing for a second to kick off his shoes. 

He ran full tilt into the lake, pounding forward through the water in the direction Athos had disappeared. There'd been no sign of him since and Porthos prayed he wasn't too late.

In the fading light the water was by now almost black, and plunging bodily into the lake Porthos struck out for where he thought Athos had gone under. 

Groping blindly under the water, Porthos tried to work out how long it had been. Surely not much more than a minute? Two? Even determined to drown himself Athos would have held his breath for a while, through sheer instinct. Wouldn't he?

Porthos came up again gasping for breath, got his bearings and ducked under once more. 

This time he struck lucky, and his frantically searching hands brushed against something floating just beneath the surface. Porthos grabbed at it, and quickly identified an unresponsive arm in a shirt sleeve. 

Fear lending him strength Porthos heaved them both upwards and dragged Athos' head above the water, but he was a dead weight in his arms and Porthos frantically kicked out for the shore.

Hauling Athos out onto the grass Porthos dropped to his knees beside him, finding with leaden despair that he wasn't breathing. He started giving mouth-to-mouth, going automatically through the motions with a dogged persistence, not allowing himself to think that he might be too late. 

After what felt like far, far too long, Athos abruptly convulsed beneath his hands and curled onto his side, vomiting lake water. 

Porthos slumped to the grass beside him, shaking with reaction and relief.

For a long while neither of them spoke. Then Athos finally looked up at him with an air of bruised despair.

"Why did you save me?" he croaked. 

"What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch you drown? Shut up," Porthos snapped. 

Athos fell silent again, and after a moment Porthos groaned and stood up.

"Come on. Let's get you inside and dried off." Athos was shivering bodily, although Porthos didn't think it was entirely from the cold. He got his hands under Athos' armpits and heaved him up, more than half carrying him into the folly. 

Both of them soaked and trailing water, Porthos pulled out a kitchen chair and made Athos sit on it where he could drip onto the flagstones. 

"Take your clothes off," he ordered gruffly, before disappearing upstairs to raid Athos' wardrobe and stack of towels.

When he returned Athos hadn't moved, and Porthos threw a towel at him. 

"I said, get undressed. Do you want to catch your death?" As soon as the words were out Porthos realised what he'd said and winced, but Athos gave him a look that held an edge of pained amusement and started obediently stripping off his shirt. 

Porthos pulled off his own clothes quickly and towelled himself dry, putting on one of Athos' baggier jumpers and having discovered with relief that a pair of his own sweatpants were still hanging over the back of a chair upstairs. 

Athos was still slowly and painfully climbing out of his own clothes, and Porthos took over, towelling him briskly and helping him into a dry t-shirt, jumper and jeans. He handed him a mug of hot sweet tea, guided him to the sofa and then sat down beside him, lost for words now that he'd run out of things to usefully do.

"Was it my fault?" Porthos asked finally, when Athos showed no inclination to break the awkward silence.

Athos looked up tiredly. "What?"

"Why you did what you did tonight. Was it me? Walking out on you? The things I said?" Porthos couldn't bear the thought that he might have driven Athos to attempt suicide, no matter what the man had done. To his ashamed relief, Athos shook his head.

"No. It wasn't you." He sighed. "The things you said were entirely justified. I expected nothing else."

"Then why?" Porthos asked, at a loss to understand and feeling helpless and angry.

Athos took a moment to answer. "She's haunting me," he breathed finally.

His words were accompanied by a timely clap of thunder as the storm broke overhead and Porthos jumped. He glowered at Athos, cross with himself.

"You what?" There was little question as to who 'she' was, but as for the rest of it Porthos didn't know what he meant. Had the guilt driven him to it? "What do you mean, she's haunting you?"

Athos shrugged, defeated and all out of fight. "I've seen her," he said sadly. "These last two nights. Watching me."

"What, like - you're dreaming about her?" Porthos asked, the back of his neck prickling unpleasantly. 

"No. Here, in the garden. Always at dusk. And when I look away, and look back - she's gone. But it was her. I know it was."

"Could just have been kids," Porthos objected. "Pissing about like."

Athos shook his head. "I saw her more clearly tonight. Here. Looking in at me." 

The thunder boomed again, accompanied this time by a squall of rain. Porthos looked up uneasily at the black square of uncurtained window and suppressed a shudder.

"She was all wet," Athos said softly. "Running with water. As if she'd just come out of the lake. And she beckoned to me. So I just - followed." There were silent tears tracking down his cheeks, and Porthos abruptly got up and stamped upstairs, coming back down with the pill basket from the windowsill. 

He threw it down onto the cushion next to Athos with a loud rattle. "You need to take something," he said flatly. "I don't know what, but if you're seeing dead women in ponds you clearly need something."

Athos unscrewed one of the bottles without protest, swallowed two pills dry. 

Porthos sat down again heavily. "You alright?" he muttered, staring at his hands.

"Not really." Athos wiped his eyes, and took a steadying breath. "Do you think I'm going mad?"

"What, like the alternatives are preferable?" Porthos looked sideways at him, and gave in. "Oh, for fuck's sake, come here." He reached out and pulled Athos against him, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

Athos was still shuddering Porthos realised, and he patted him a little awkwardly on the back. "Come on. You're alright. Why don't you go and have a lie down, eh?"

"I don't want to be alone," Athos admitted in a low voice, and Porthos sighed.

"I'll stay with you. I promise."

"Will you?" Athos looked up at him, a tremor in his voice, and Porthos nodded.

"Yeah. Course I will."

"Thank you. I'm sorry." Athos looked down again dejectedly. "For everything."

"Yeah, well that's enough self-pity for one night, eh? Come on, let's get you into bed." 

Porthos helped Athos up the stairs and then into his pyjamas, true to his word staying with him until he'd fallen into a fitful sleep.

Making his way quietly downstairs again, Porthos picked up their sopping clothes from the floor and wrung them out, hanging them to dry on the old wooden clothes horse. 

The remains of Athos' supper were still set out on the table, and Porthos helped himself to a corner of pie and a piece of cheese, and poured himself a glass of wine before sitting back down on the sofa.

He prodded idly at the basket of medication, frowning at the number of bottles, although most were almost empty. He supposed the doctor brought fresh prescriptions with him when he came. 

The long and complicated drug names on the labels meant nothing to him, although he noted with vague interest that Athos' surname was LaFère. He'd never even told him that, Porthos thought bitterly, wondering why it rang a faint bell. 

For want of something to do Porthos looked up the drugs on Athos' phone, which he'd thoughtfully left on the table before taking his dip. Porthos' own was now ruined and useless. The information he found made him frown, and setting the phone aside he finished off the wine and stared thoughtfully into space.

The storm was right overhead now, the thunder and lightning coming almost together. Porthos was just wondering whether to fetch a blanket and try and snatch some sleep on the sofa when a particularly enormous flash lit up the sky and to his unutterable horror Porthos found he was looking at a woman's face staring back at him through the window.

"Jesus!" He nearly fell off the seat in alarm, scrambling to his feet. The vision had been a split-second at most, and the window was dark again. 

Grabbing the torch Athos kept by the door Porthos yanked it open and peered out into the storm, flashing the torch beam around outside the window.

"Hello? Anyone there?" The rain made it hard to see, and he had no desire to get soaked again. There was no answer, and nothing visible, and he drew back into the warm and shut the door behind him, then after a second turned the key in the lock for good measure.

All Athos’ talk of being haunted had clearly got to him. He didn't believe in ghosts, but the thought of sleeping down here in front of all the blankly watching windows was suddenly incredibly unappealing.

A little sheepishly Porthos made his way upstairs. To his relief Athos was now soundly asleep, despite all the thunder which was finally moving off into the distance. 

Porthos gingerly drew back the covers and climbed in behind him. He'd promised to stay, and in any event he didn't fancy going home in this weather. Athos presumably wouldn't mind sharing, and Porthos hoped he would be the first to wake, so he could sneak out again without making things awkward.

Trying to banish all thoughts of revenants and vengeful ghosts, Porthos put out the lamp and firmly closed his eyes, eventually lulled to sleep by the sound of Athos' quiet breathing.

\--

When Porthos woke the next morning, there was a blissful moment before he recalled the events of the last few days. For a second all he was aware of was being warm and comfortable and in bed with Athos - and then it all came flooding back.

He sat up, rubbing his face. Athos was awake too he realised, watching him quietly from the other pillow. To Porthos' relief he didn't assume that Porthos' presence in his bed meant anything more than somewhere to sleep. He wasn't sure how he felt yet.

Suddenly remembering something else, Porthos abruptly pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, glad he was already dressed. 

"Are you leaving?" Athos asked quietly. 

Porthos looked down at him with a frown. "No. There's something I need to check. It all went a bit too Wuthering Heights round here last night for my liking."

He made a quick trip to the loo and then padded downstairs, unlocking the front door and emerging into a bright morning. The wet grass was cool under his bare feet, and he stepped carefully between the bushes into the flowerbed under the window.

"What are you doing?" Athos had appeared at the door behind him, wrapped in a dressing gown.

"What did you see last night?" Porthos asked. "Exactly."

Athos hesitated. "Milady. My wife. Looking in the window."

"This one?" Porthos looked up, noting that where he'd been sitting on the hill was on the opposite side of the folly, and out of sight.

"Yes, why?"

"I saw something too last night," Porthos admitted. "Just a flash, but - someone looking in."

Athos went pale. "What are you saying? That I wasn't hallucinating? That it's really her ghost?"

Porthos looked at him. "I don't believe in ghosts. And I certainly don't believe in ones that leave footprints."

"What do you mean?"

"Come here and look at this. Careful where you tread."

Athos stepped into the flowerbed next to him and looked where Porthos was pointing. A pair of footprints showed up clearly in the damp earth, where someone in bare feet had stood beneath the window. Someone with much smaller prints than either of the ones Athos and Porthos were leaving.

"What does it mean?" Athos asked, bewildered.

"It means," Porthos said, straightening up, "that someone's playing silly buggers." He went back inside, Athos trailing after him.

"Tell me exactly what you've been seeing," Porthos said gently, settling Athos at the table and putting the kettle on to boil. He was so used to being in this kitchen it was a sharp sort of sorrow to think he'd all but given up his right to take charge of it. But Athos let him, grateful to have someone else making the decisions.

"I first saw her two nights ago," Athos said slowly, remembering. "Up near the orchard. Scared me half to death, but then she was gone, and I thought I'd imagined it. Except then I saw her again the following night, down in the formal garden."

"Barefoot?" Porthos asked. Athos nodded.

"And wearing this - long white dress. Nightdress, maybe. Her hair all loose."

"She wear that sort of thing when you were married?"

Athos shook his head again, and Porthos snorted. 

"Victorian gothic dot-com bargain chic then. No self-respecting ghost would be seen dead wearing anything else. Go on," he added hurriedly, seeing Athos looked upset and remembering this was his wife they were talking about.

"There isn't anything else. Last night I stayed out of the garden, but she came to me instead. You know the rest." Athos looked shaken, and Porthos stirred sugar into his tea and passed it over.

"You seen her before, about the place?" he asked.

"No. Three nights ago was the first time."

"Hmmn. Just when you were on your own," Porthos mused. "Look, it could have been anyone, right?"

"I know my own wife," Athos retorted, then looked crestfallen. "Except - it can't have been, can it?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're generally drugged to the tits. I wouldn't be surprised to hear you'd seen the Wild Hunt pass through, accompanied by the Frog Chorus," said Porthos. "Except - "

"Except you saw her too," Athos finished for him dryly, ignoring the crack about his medication levels.

"Yeah." Porthos sat back in his chair and blew out a breath. "Look, have you got any pictures of her?"

"No. Nothing." Athos sipped his tea, then frowned. "Wait. I know where there is one though."

"Can you get it?"

Athos shook his head. "No. But I can take you to see it."

He looked down at himself, dragging fingers through tangled hair. "We should probably clean up first though. I'm fairly sure that lake's about eighty percent duck shit."

"I'll run you a bath." Porthos started to get to his feet, but Athos beat him to it.

"I can manage." He disappeared upstairs and Porthos sighed. He had a feeling they were both avoiding talking about the fact that ghosts or not, Athos had tried to kill himself last night. 

The distant sounds of a bath filling suddenly took on altogether more sinister connotations, and Porthos was halfway up the stairs before he knew it.

To his relief Athos was just standing by the bath still in his pyjamas, and looked vaguely surprised when Porthos dashed up the stairs.

"Everything alright?" Porthos asked nonchalantly. Athos shut off the taps. 

"Fine. Why don't you go home and grab a shower? Get a change of clothes?"

"You, er - you don't think I should stay?"

Athos frowned, then glanced down at the steaming surface of the water and suddenly realised what he was so antsy about.

"I'll be fine," he said. 

Porthos was still reluctant to leave. "I promised I wouldn't leave you." 

"I thought you already had," Athos countered, a shade bitterly. 

Porthos hung his head, and Athos relented. "I'll be okay," he sighed. "No drowning in the bath, I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Porthos nodded, half turning to leave then swinging back and pulling Athos into an unexpected hug. "I'll be as quick as I can."

After a startled second, Athos returned the hug just as tightly. "Go," he said. "I'll be fine."

\--

Porthos ran all the way home, thoughts and fears churning through his mind. Athos had sounded entirely rational this morning, but he couldn't shake the worry that he was stupid to leave him alone. He could practically hear the voice of the coroner in this head. So, Mr DuVallon, why exactly did you leave a man who had just tried to drown himself alone with a deep bath and a basket full of pills? Because he told me to, your honour.

Reaching his cottage Porthos took the world's fastest shower, put on clean clothes and dashed out again, haring back to the folly in a state of mild panic.

He burst through the door and came to an abrupt halt when he found a clean and fully-dressed Athos standing there with a mug of tea in his hand.

"Athos." He breathed a sigh of relief, and couldn't help himself, he pulled Athos into another hug.

Managing to set his mug down on the table before he spilt it, Athos patted him awkwardly. 

"Porthos? Are you alright?" He frowned, realising how hard Porthos was breathing. "Have you been running?"

Porthos pulled away sheepishly. "Yeah. I didn't want to be too long."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "You were really worried about me in that bath, huh?" he said quietly. Porthos gave a jerky nod of admission, and Athos sighed. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"You did last night."

"Yes. Well." Athos looked away. "I wasn't thinking straight." He bit his lip. "I didn't thank you, did I? For saving me."

"I kind've got the impression you wished I hadn't," Porthos couldn't help saying.

Athos shook his head. "No. I'm glad you did," he said softly. 

For a second they hugged each other properly, a tight embrace that was full of emotion, but there were too many things unsaid between them and it couldn't last.

"So, you going to show me this picture then?" Porthos said finally, and Athos nodded.

"Yes. Come with me."

To Porthos' bemusement, Athos lead him out of the folly and up the gravelled path towards the back of the main house. As they approached the garden door, Porthos watched in confusion as Athos took a key out of his pocket and unlocked it.

"Athos? How have you got a key to the house?" Porthos asked slowly, as Athos stepped back to let him enter.

Athos just looked at him, and Porthos felt a horrible suspicion growing in his mind. 

"Oh. Oh no. Tell me I haven't been that stupid?" Porthos said dolefully. "Athos tell me you're not the fucking owner of this place?"

Athos just closed the door again behind them and started walking towards the inner door. Porthos followed him at a trot, pieces falling into place. 

"LaFère. I knew that name was familiar. When I first started here, I'd sometimes get bits of post for the main house by accident. I never paid much attention, just forwarded them on to the agents, but that was the name on them. Jesus Athos, that makes you my boss!"

"I suppose it does, in a round-about way," Athos agreed.

"Why didn't you say something?" Porthos demanded.

Athos shrugged, and gave him a lopsided smile. "You might have asked for a raise. Are you coming, or what?" He walked off into the house, leaving Porthos to follow along behind.

Porthos' first emotion was one of deep embarrassment at the amount of time he'd spent slacking off recently, until he remembered that most of that had been at Athos' behest. No wonder he'd so blithely told Porthos not to worry about it, he thought. 

His second impulse was curiosity. In all the time he'd been here he'd never seen inside the house itself, and finally he was getting the chance. Most of the furniture seemed to have been removed though, and it felt like a cold and empty shell. 

Following Athos down a passage they came out into what seemed to be an actual ballroom. On the lower ground floor, it looked out over the formal gardens to the rear with their little box hedges and clouds of lavender.

Porthos had peered in the windows at the shadowy space within, and now he was actually crossing the echoing room he had the sudden urge to grab Athos and dance with him across it. He sadly pushed the impulse aside. This was hardly the time for frivolity, and Athos was no longer his to dance with in any case.

Athos had disappeared into a room at the far end, and Porthos followed him through the door only to come to an abrupt halt. Facing him from the far wall was the portrait of a man that could only be Athos.

"Christ!"

"Not quite," Athos said dryly, and Porthos laughed.

"That's one hell of a selfie."

"Family tradition, I'm afraid," Athos murmured. 

Porthos grinned. "Think I'll stick to polaroids." 

"Yes, well, I didn't bring you here to see that," Athos muttered. "More this one." He pointed to a second painting, and Porthos stared at it. 

It depicted a dark-haired woman in a stylish blue dress, clutching a spray of forget-me-nots. Even in oils the gaze was piercing, and it somehow looked like a face that knew a lot of secrets. 

"That's her," Porthos said finally. "That's who I saw last night."

"Except it can't have been, can it?" Athos said, softly and sadly.

Porthos blew out a breath. "She hasn't got a twin sister or something stupid like that has she?"

Athos' mouth twitched. "Not that I know of."

"Alright. Let's do this logically. What, exactly, happened the night she died?"

Athos looked away. "Don't make me think about it."

Porthos caught his arm. "Athos. You asked me to let you explain. And I wouldn't, I walked out. Well - this is me, letting you explain. Please."

There was a long pause, then Athos sighed and nodded. "Alright. Not here though, this place gives me the creeps all empty like this. Let's go back outside."

They tracked back through the house and out into the garden, locking up behind them. Porthos lead them to a wooden seat beneath a rose arbour, and Athos turned his face up to the sun, closing his eyes for a moment.

Porthos studied him. Athos looked tired and strained and barely held together, and Porthos felt sorry for him, knowing it was at least partly his fault. 

If he hadn't insisted on Athos telling him what he'd done, would they still be living together in blissful ignorance? But Porthos was starting to suspect there was more to this than first appeared, and if Athos was ever to find peace, one way or the other they had to get to the bottom of it.

"Tell me what happened," he said quietly. 

Athos glanced at him, then slid down in the seat a little, staring out over the lawn. 

"I'd been away on business," he said. "A conference. Except the final talks were cancelled at short notice, and I came home a day earlier than expected. I found them together."

"Here." For some reason it had only just hit Porthos that the events of this must have taken place in this very house. And this was where Athos had been sent to recover? He frowned but kept his uneasy thoughts to himself, not wanting to interrupt more than necessary.

"Yes." Athos sighed. "Louis left immediately, of course. Never did like confrontation. Milady though - she kept on at me. Telling me it was all my fault, that she was bored, that I was a useless husband and a useless lover." He folded his arms, crossed his legs defensively. 

"I got drunk. So did she. It seemed like a good idea. Arguing was about the only thing we were good at together. Things - escalated. She flew at me, I pushed her back. I only meant to restrain her, I swear." 

Athos unfolded his arms, put his head in hands, pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back tears.

"But you - what? Accidentally stifled her?" Porthos prompted cautiously. 

"I had my hands round her throat. I remember that. Not to choke her, just to - hold her there. Against the wall." Athos' hands crept to his own throat, fingers splayed over his collarbones. Porthos frowned. If that was an unconscious mirroring of what he remembered, it certainly wasn't a stranglehold.

"And?"

Athos shook his head. "That's all I remember. I've blocked the rest of it out."

Porthos frowned. "Hang on - so then what? You - came round beside her body or...?"

"No." Athos took a shuddering breath. "The next thing I remember I'm waking up in this - private sanatorium," he said carefully. "And they tell me I've been there for three months, out of my mind."

Porthos stared at him. "Are you telling me you never saw the body?"

"I must have done, I just - don't remember," said Athos uncomfortably. 

"Then how can you be so sure you killed her?"

"They told me I had," Athos said simply. "All I remember is my hands round her throat. They said my own mind was trying to protect me from it, blocking the memories out. That I'd been raving for months. They'd had to sedate me. Restrain me." 

Porthos was getting both angrier and more confused by the second. 

"One thing I don't understand - okay, lots of things I don't understand, but firstly - where's the police in all of this? Round here you throttle your wife you get banged up, even if you're a rich git."

"He managed to keep them out of it. I don't know how. They recorded a verdict of death by misadventure. Friends in high places maybe, I didn't like to question it. Maybe like you said once, they implied it was a sexual thing gone wrong." Athos' face burned but he kept his head down, pulling an ox-eye daisy from the border and restlessly plucking the petals off one by one.

He loves me, Porthos thought. He loves me not.

"Okay, I'm lost, who's _he_? This mate of yours, this Louis?"

"No. God no. I haven't heard from him since. No, her brother." 

"Milady's brother?" 

"Yes."

"Hang on, her own brother kept you out of jail? When you'd supposedly just murdered his sister?"

Athos swallowed. "Like I say, I didn't question it. I was just grateful. I don't think - I think if I'd gone to prison, I wouldn't have survived it."

"You didn't question much, did you?" Porthos sighed. "But then, look at you. You're in no state to question anything." He frowned. "How'd this guy get you into this private hospital anyway? I presume that's where you stayed for a bit, before you came here?"

Athos nodded. "The days all blurred into one. It wasn't until you told me the house had been shut up for a year that I realised how long it had been." He stared at the ruined flower in his hand and threw the mess onto the ground with a shudder. "He was a shareholder. Practically the owner, I think." 

It took Porthos a second to realise this was an answer to his first question. 

"So he shuts you up in his personal nut house, keeps you docile on God knows what level of medication, then packs you back off to the scene of the crime to recuperate? All the while sending his tame quack to feed you more pills? Jesus Christ, no wonder he didn't want the police involved." 

"They said it was the perfect place," Athos protested weakly. "Quiet. No one would bother me."

"Perfectly isolated you mean," Porthos retorted. "On your own out here, with just your guilt for company and a handy basket full of pills?" He shuddered, then looked up in sudden realisation. 

"No wonder they hated you seeing me. I must have put a right spanner in the works. Suddenly there you are getting happier by the week and frolicking through the flowers instead of using them to weave a handy noose?"

Athos pulled his feet up onto the bench and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I've never frolicked in my life," he muttered.

"Maybe it's time you did." Porthos looked at him steadily. "Oh God. That's why he told me. That doctor, he as good as told me you'd done something awful. Made me ask you."

"I have." Athos rested his forehead on his knees. "I have, Porthos."

"Have you?" Porthos sighed. "The more you tell me, the less convinced I am." He shifted sideways and draped an arm over the curve of Athos' bowed back.

"Follow the money. Who inherits?" he asked. "If you'd succeeded in topping yourself last night?"

Athos sat up again and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm the last of my family as far as I know. There might be a random cousin somewhere."

"And if it turned out she wasn't dead after all?"

Athos looked at him. "Then it would all go to her."

Porthos sighed. "Bingo."

"Porthos what you're implying - it's crazy."

"Crazier than ghosts at the window?" 

Athos shifted uncomfortably. "Like you say, I'm on a lot of drugs."

"Yeah, but I'm not!" Porthos got up and crouched down in front of him, taking Athos' hands in his. 

"Will you do something for me?"

Athos gazed at him sorrowfully. "Anything," he breathed.

"I want you to stop taking the pills. At least for a day or so."

Athos drew back in shock. "But I need them."

"No you don't. Do you even know what you're taking?"

"Anti-depressants. And - mild anti-psychotics," Athos admitted, shamefaced.

Porthos looked at him grimly. "You ever bother to look 'em up? No, course you didn't. You hated the fact you had to take them at all didn't you? Well I did. Last night. They're not anti-depressants Athos, they're sedatives, pure and simple. And the others? They're what they give to violent mental patients, the ones who are kicking off. And they're not recommended for long-term use, so you'd be doing your liver and kidneys a favour by coming off them, if nothing else."

Athos stared at him in horror. "No - no, you're wrong, you have to be wrong."

"The links'll still be on your phone, if you want to check."

Athos immediately pulled it out of his pocket, and Porthos wandered a short distance away, letting him read the information in peace. 

A few minutes later, Athos walked over to him, ashen.

"I suppose - I suppose I was violent," he ventured, and Porthos took him by the shoulders, resisting the urge to shake him.

"Athos wake up! Can't you see what's happening here?"

"I see a man who's desperate to believe I'm innocent," Athos said softly. "When the truth is I may not be."

"Then you accept the possibility you might be?" Porthos asked, seizing on the glimmer of hope in Athos' words.

"You do present a very - persuasive case," Athos admitted with a faint smile. "I'm touched by your faith in me."

"You're not a murderer Athos. I'd stake my life on it."

"You realise you might be doing just that, if I am?" Athos said seriously. 

Porthos shook his head irritably. "What, suddenly you're a serial killer now? Stop it. Stop making yourself worse and worse in your own head. It's not good for you."

"Will you help me?" Athos asked in a small voice. "If I try to come off them? I don't think I can do it alone." 

"Yes! Yes, of course I will."

"You have no reason to help me," Athos said sadly. 

Porthos put his arms round him and drew Athos into a gentle hug. "I've got all the reasons in the world."

\--

Back at the folly, Porthos picked up the basket of meds and looked at Athos. 

"Is this all of them?"

"Yes." Athos watched anxiously, but Porthos just placed them in one of the kitchen drawers and rolled it shut.

"There. Out of sight, out of mind."

"If only it was that easy," Athos sighed. "You do know it won't be that easy, right?" he said cautiously.

"I know." Porthos patted him on the shoulder. "I'm guessing those sedatives at least are going to be pretty habit forming. Which is why we're not flushing them away. Just in case." He hesitated. "You know, the sensible thing to do would be to go and see a doctor - a different one. Get a second opinion on what you're taking. Come off them slowly."

"Which would also have the effect of landing me right back in the system," Athos concluded heavily. "And if it turns out I am guilty after all - "

"You're not," Porthos interrupted, and Athos lost his patience.

"Porthos, I might be! You have to face that fact. Because what happens then? What if she turns out to be dead after all, and me guilty? Do you just walk out on me again? Because if that's the case I'm not sure I want to go there."

Porthos stared at him, shaken. "No," he said finally. "No, I won't walk out on you. Whatever happens. I thought I could, but - I can't." 

"Even if I'm guilty?" Athos whispered.

Porthos took a deep breath. "Even if you're guilty. We'll get through this Athos. I swear. It'll be okay."

"I just hope you know what you're doing."

"Honestly? Not a fucking clue."

Athos spluttered with appalled laughter, and Porthos took him into his arms, laughing too.

"No, no, it's okay. I've got a plan."

"Promise?"

Porthos hugged him tight. "Promise." 

\--

By the evening Athos was openly jittery and Porthos watched him flitting from chair to kitchenette to sofa, and repeatedly running upstairs and back down, having forgotten what he went up for. 

"You o- " Porthos broke off, remembering how unhelpful Athos had found being asked if he was okay. "How you feeling?" he amended.

"Honestly? Like shite," said Athos. "This is ridiculous. It's barely a couple of hours past when I should have taken them. I've gone longer than this before without even noticing."

"It's because you're thinking about it," Porthos said. "It's making it worse." He patted the sofa beside him. "Want a cuddle?" he offered hopefully.

"I want a drink," Athos retorted, pacing back and forth between the seating area and the kitchenette.

"That might be a bad idea," Porthos warned him.

"This whole thing's a bad idea, and yet!" Athos threw up his hands and glared at him. Porthos just looked placidly back at him and Athos sagged. "I'm sorry," he sighed.

Porthos got up and came over. "You don't have to be sorry. Yell at me if it helps."

"I don't want to yell at you. I want to stop feeling all prickly and anxious."

"Why don't we go to bed?" Porthos suggested. "If you're asleep you won't notice."

Athos looked at him warily, then nodded. They hadn't discussed the sleeping arrangements, but there was little question that it made sense to share the bed. Athos was probably going to need Porthos on hand, and the sofa was only a two-seater and too small to be comfortable. 

Porthos had fetched a few things over that afternoon, and they got ready for bed in near-silence. With the light out, the curtainless room filled with moonlight, and for some time Porthos was aware of Athos tossing and turning beside him. 

After a while he wriggled closer and slid an arm around Athos' waist, thinking he might take some comfort from it, but Athos irritably shrugged him off.

"Sorry." Porthos withdrew carefully to his own side of the bed, and Athos flopped onto his back with a sigh.

"Sorry, I - that wasn't - I just don't really want to be touched right now," he said. "I'm too hot."

"Okay." Porthos nodded, quietly glad that it hadn't been meant as a rejection. 

They looked at each other, everything outlined in shades of grey and silver, the moon casting curious shadows on the wall.

"Let's just get though this, eh?" Porthos said. "We can work out the rest later."

"Yes." It was a sigh of relief. "Thank you." Athos settled back down, facing away from him, and Porthos lay watching the back of his head. He knew it was him that had fucked this up in the first place, but it still hurt not to be able to comfort Athos as closely as he instinctively wanted to. 

At least Athos seemed to still hold out some hope for them, he thought. Maybe when all this was over there would be enough left of what they'd had to salvage.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

Athos spent a restless night, thrashing about in the grip of nightmares once he did manage to drop off, and frequently waking Porthos up. By morning they were both a little fractious, and Porthos' attempts to get Athos to eat breakfast didn't improve relations.

"You should eat something," he insisted, trying to tempt Athos with hot buttered toast. "You hardly ate any dinner last night."

"I'm not hungry. Leave me alone can't you?" Athos was still in his pyjamas, morosely hunched over in his seat.

"Athos - "

"No! Leave me the fuck alone!" He got up and to Porthos' consternation stormed out of the front door, slamming it behind him.

A certain amount of strategic peering through windows revealed to Porthos' relief that Athos hadn't gone far, and was just slumped miserably in one of the chairs out on the decking. Fighting down the immediate instinctive reaction to go and drag him back inside, Porthos forced himself to stand there and watch for a while, until he gradually became reassured that Athos wasn't intent on hurling himself into the water.

Porthos pottered around, absent-mindedly eating the toast he'd made for Athos and then washing up, all where he could keep an eye on the man. Athos showed no signs of moving, although the next time Porthos looked he was curled up in the wicker chair and looked like he was shivering. 

It was still early, and there was little warmth in the sun yet. Athos was only wearing pyjamas and had bare feet, and Porthos started worrying that now he'd flounced out Athos was too proud to come in again regardless of how cold he got.

He fetched the throw from Athos' bed and his dressing gown and ventured outside. Athos looked up warily as he appeared round the corner of the house, and Porthos stopped on the edge of the deck, holding out the items as a silent peace offering.

After a brief internal struggle, Athos gave in with a grudging nod. Porthos came over and draped the dressing gown around his shoulders and the throw over his lap, and after restraining himself to stroking his fingers lightly over Athos' back, left him to it.

Half an hour later, when Athos still hadn't come in again Porthos carried out a cup of tea. Athos was swathed in the throw until only his face was visible, and the fingers that reached out to accept the mug were icy.

"Th'nk you," Athos muttered. 

"Why don't you come back inside?" Porthos suggested gently, but Athos shook his head.

"It helps."

"The cold air?"

Athos nodded. "Feel sick," he admitted.

Porthos felt sorry for him, knowing that what Athos was going through was at his behest. "Want me to stay with you?" he offered, but Athos shook his head again. "I'll leave you in peace then. Give us a shout if you want anything, okay?"

It was another hour before Athos finally appeared in the doorway, clutching the empty mug.

"Want another?" Porthos offered, but Athos declined. 

"I'm going back to bed."

"Probably the best thing," Porthos nodded, glad Athos was at least back in the warm. 

He whiled away the next couple of hours tidying up and then preparing some home-made soup, hoping that Athos might at least be able to manage a small portion. 

Athos didn't have a television but he did have a radio, and Porthos had it on low while he worked. He heard nothing from upstairs save the occasional creak of the bed that suggested Athos was sleeping no better than he had last night.

When the soup was ready Porthos decanted some into a wide mug and carried it up. Athos was wrapped in the duvet, but apparently awake because he turned over when Porthos came upstairs and looked at him.

"Feeling any better?" Porthos asked, sitting carefully on the side of the bed. Athos sat up and rubbed his face wearily.

"Do you want the polite answer to that or the truthful one?"

Porthos gave a sympathetic laugh and held out the mug. "Try and eat something?" he wheedled. "It might make you feel better?"

Reluctantly Athos took the soup, and Porthos sat with him while he managed to get most of it down. Pleased, Porthos took the mug back and ruffled his hair, laughing when Athos batted him away. 

"Want me to come and sit up here with you?" he offered. "Or would you rather be on your own?"

Athos sighed. "I'm best left alone. I'll only end up being horrid to you the way I feel right now."

Porthos thumped his chest. "I can take it," he grinned. "Seriously, d'you want some company?"

Athos looked torn, but finally nodded. Porthos fetched some soup and a roll for himself, and grabbed a book before making himself comfortable on the bed. Despite his rather grudging acceptance of company, after a second Athos wriggled closer to him and Porthos stroked his hair until he fell asleep again.

Athos managed almost an hour of relatively peaceful rest, but then started flinching and muttering in his sleep. Porthos was torn as to whether to wake him or not, but Athos came round of his own accord, burying his face into the pillow and curling into a ball with a stifled moan.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked, concerned.

"Cramps," came the muffled reply. "Nngggh. Fuck."

Before Porthos could offer either sympathy or advice, Athos had abruptly uncoiled and flung himself out of bed with a turn of speed that could only be described as panicked. He hurtled across the room and into the toilet, slamming the door behind him. A second later Porthos heard him losing his lunch, and winced.

When Athos finally emerged looking rather dazed he leaned heavily against the basin, washing his face and cleaning his teeth before staggering back over to the bed.

"Sorry," he muttered, crawling back underneath the covers. Porthos was touched when he wriggled across to where Porthos was sitting, and rested his head on Porthos' thigh without prompting.

Porthos petted his shoulder with guilty affection. "No, I'm sorry," he echoed. "I should have listened when you said you didn't want to eat."

Athos shook his head. "Neither of us has any idea what we're doing, or how this will pan out, that's the trouble. It's not your fault."

Heartened by Athos' mellowing towards him, on impulse Porthos climbed under the covers with him. 

"Come here," he urged, and Athos finally let Porthos wrap him in his arms and hold him comfortingly tight. Porthos suspected this was a measure of how bad he was feeling apart from anything else, but he'd take it. 

\--

With Athos asleep again, utterly drained and making up for his broken night's rest, Porthos eventually wandered back downstairs. He made himself another light meal, read some more of the book he'd picked up, and did a bit of research into withdrawal symptoms on Athos' phone. 

These varied from the tiresome to the alarming, although most agreed that the very worst should be over with in a few days - always assuming the shock of the sudden stop didn't result in the death of the patient.

Porthos stopped reading at that point, too uncomfortable to go on. All other things being equal, Athos was young, fit and healthy, and should theoretically be able to stand the strain. Assuming he didn't have a weak heart or some other family history that made him susceptible, that Porthos knew nothing about.

Having scared himself silly he went back upstairs to check on Athos and found him awake but rather disoriented. 

"Porthos?"

"Yes. Yeah, I'm here." Porthos perched on the side of the bed and Athos peered up at him.

"What's going on?"

Porthos frowned. "How'd you mean?"

"Who's downstairs?"

Porthos' frown deepened. "No one, why?"

It was Athos' turn to frown and he sat up. "I can hear voices. Who is it?"

Baffled, Porthos shook his head. "No one. I had the radio on earlier, was that what you could hear maybe?"

Athos stared at him. "Is it still on?" he asked finally.

"No, it's been off for a while."

"Then who the fuck is downstairs?"

"Athos, there's no one here but us, I promise - "

"Don't lie to me!" Athos struggled out of bed and made his way unsteadily to the stairs.

Porthos followed him down, finding Athos standing in the middle of the empty room looking confused and distressed. Athos went over to the front door and tried it, frowning when he found it was locked from the inside, with the key in the lock. He turned back to Porthos in consternation.

"I promise there's been no one else in the house," Porthos said gently. "What could you hear?"

"Voices," Athos said uncertainly. "Somebody having a conversation. I couldn't make out the words, but - I could hear their voices."

"Can you still hear them?"

Athos considered, then shook his head, looking frightened. "Am I going mad?" he whispered, and Porthos strode over and hugged him protectively.

"Of course you're not. You were half asleep, and your brain chemicals are probably all over the shop. That's all. Look, why don't you get dressed and we'll go and sit outside for a bit in the sun? Bit of fresh air will do you good."

After a pause Athos nodded, and Porthos beamed at him. He was feeling useless and helpless and was glad of being able to offer something, even it was only ideas and company. Being out in the garden always made him feel better, and he hoped Athos would feel the same.

A few minutes later they ventured out, Athos now fully dressed and Porthos clutching a rug. They made their way to a sheltered patch of lawn and spread it out, lying down where they could gaze up into the flower border and into the blue sky beyond.

Athos was too restless to lie still for long, but he stayed on the rug, albeit fidgeting between positions. He'd lie on his front for a bit, staring into the tangled world of the flower stems behind them, then he'd sit up and shred grass between his fingers, then he'd curl into a ball on his side and shiver slightly. He had a thick jumper on despite the heat of the afternoon, but while he'd been overheating the night before, now he seemed to be constantly cold.

Porthos lay quietly beside him, eyes closed and enjoying the sun on his face. There were birds singing up in the trees and faintly, higher up, he could catch the twitter of skylarks.

"Do you hear that?" 

Porthos cracked open an eye to find Athos was sitting up again, head cocked and whole body rigid. He guessed Athos wasn't talking about birdsong but he listened obligingly. "I don't hear anything? Birds?"

Athos shook his head. He didn't elaborate, but Porthos suspected he was hearing things again.

After a minute or so of Athos looking increasingly uncomfortable and looking round sharply every so often, Porthos took pity on him. "Would you like to go back inside?" he offered, wondering if Athos was feeling too exposed out here. 

"Would you mind?" Athos seized gratefully on the suggestion, and Porthos shook his head.

"Whatever you want." 

They retreated back to the house, Athos constantly looking behind him as they went. 

Throughout the evening that followed, he would occasionally look up enquiringly at Porthos, who always shook his head to confirm he could hear no unseen persons conversing nearby.

After several instances of this Athos sighed, and Porthos put an arm around him. "It'll pass," he promised. "Maybe tomorrow you'll feel better, eh?"

\--

Unfortunately, following another broken night's sleep in the morning Athos seemed to be worse. Listless and irritable, he flatly refused to get out of bed and Porthos ended up storming out of the house in a funk, having reached the end of his patience.

He stomped back to his own cottage, but after a hot shower, a shave and change of fresh clothes, he felt a lot better. Feeling guilty for abandoning Athos and knowing that the mood swings and tetchiness weren't his fault, Porthos nevertheless took the opportunity to nip down to the village in the truck, picking up bread and milk and a few other supplies. 

On his way back, instead of driving back to the cottage he took the track that lead round the edge of the grounds to the folly, not wanting to delay his return any longer than absolutely necessary. He was reasonably comfortable Athos was in a stable enough frame of mind to be safe on his own, but he didn't want to gamble on it unnecessarily.

To his relief Athos was exactly where he'd left him and still in bed, although when he finally coaxed him out from under the covers, Porthos was horrified to discover that Athos had clearly been crying.

"What's wrong?" he pleaded, making to gather Athos into his arms, but Athos shuffled away and burrowed back under the bedclothes.

"Leave me alone, I don't want you to see me like this," he muttered, clearly embarrassed but also sounding so wretched that Porthos couldn't just let it drop. 

"Athos? Talk to me sweetheart. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you, did you think I wasn't coming back?"

Athos shook his head, but as Porthos couldn't work out if that meant he had or he hadn't, it didn't really help.

"I'm here for you, okay?" Porthos said helplessly. "Is there anything you need?"

"Why are you doing this?" It was almost a wail, and Athos abruptly flopped over onto his back, staring up at Porthos through eyes that were brimming with tears again - confusion, frustration and pain all blurring together.

Taken aback, Porthos stared at him. "I'm - just trying to help you?" he said earnestly, wondering if in Athos' muddled state the withholding of his medication was suddenly feeling like a cruel and unusual torture. But Athos shook his head again impatiently. 

"That's what I mean. Why are you bothering? I'm worthless. You should have left me to drown," Athos declared bleakly.

"Athos, no! I'm not having that." Porthos climbed onto the bed and snuggled up to him. "I know you must be feeling rock bottom right now," he murmured. "But it won't last, I promise. You'll feel better again. Much better, hopefully. And for the record you were totally worth saving, even if you are a grumpy git."

He didn't manage to coax a smile out of him, but Athos stopped resisting and finally let Porthos pull him into a hug.

"It'll be okay," Porthos promised softly. "It'll be okay." And he prayed to anyone who happened to be listening that it would be.

\--

For a while it only seemed to get worse. Athos seemed to have sunk into the lowest, blackest mood imaginable and spent most of the afternoon plagued by involuntary crying fits that left him exhausted and progressively more self-loathing. He'd made Porthos go away, but sitting downstairs Porthos could still occasionally hear him sobbing and it was shredding his heart to pieces.

Eventually he couldn't stand it any more and climbed the stairs with a sober resolve.

"Athos?" He sat on the bed and Athos rolled over to look at him, eyes reddened and expression weary.

"Sorry," Athos sighed, his voice low and rough from crying. "Am I disturbing you? Maybe you should go home."

Porthos had to swallow down a lump in his throat, that Athos should feel he needed to apologise for his misery.

"Athos, I'm thinking maybe you need to take something," he said heavily. "I had no idea coming off everything at once might affect you this badly and I'm scared it's going to hurt you. You shouldn't be feeling like this, it's not good for you. So what I'm saying is - if you need to take something - I think you should. We'll find another way, we'll go to another doctor, do this more slowly. I can't bear it."

He made to get up, intending to go and fetch the basket of pills, but to his surprise Athos' hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.

"No."

"No?" Porthos gazed down at him in surprise, taking Athos' hand in both of his and rubbing his fingers.

"No." Athos licked his lips, swallowed. "I feel - well I feel like hell. It's like - like coming out of a bed of cotton wool or something. Suddenly the world's too bright, and harsh. But I'm starting to realise just how fuzzy everything's been. I still can't think straight, my head's more squirrelly than ever. But I'm starting to realise just how long it's been since I've been _able_ to think straight. And that scares me more than anything. More than the pain, more than the depression. So don't let me give in Porthos, please. Don't send me back down there. However much it hurts, I need to do this."

Porthos nodded shakily. "Okay. Okay, then we do this. But we do it together, let me help Athos, don't push me away."

Athos sat up a little and reached for him then, and Porthos folded him into his arms thankfully, needing the reassurance of the embrace as much as Athos.

\--

To his relief that night Athos slept better, in fact he was _so_ quiet and _so_ still that several times Porthos had to creep closer just to check he was still breathing.

When Porthos opened his eyes the next morning he discovered he was alone in the bed, and sat up in a panic. He had visions of finding Athos floating in the lake, but then the toilet flushed and a few moments later Athos opened the door.

Finding Porthos was out of bed and staring at him, Athos checked for a moment, then to Porthos' surprise he smiled.

"Good morning."

Porthos blinked, smiling back instinctively. "Morning." He studied Athos curiously. "You look better."

"I feel better." Athos frowned. "No I don't, that's a lie. I feel like shite. But I feel - clearer, if that makes sense?"

Porthos nodded. "You even sound different," he noted.

"Do I?" Athos looked surprised, but Porthos nodded again. He did. There'd always been a note of rather breathy hesitancy to Athos' voice that had vanished. Even in those few sentences he sounded more confident somehow. More in control. Although there was a familiar look of uncertainty back in his eyes now as he looked at Porthos.

"I suppose it's possible you won't actually like the real me," Athos ventured, considering the fact that Porthos had only ever known him sedated and biddable.

Porthos came across and smiled at him. "That's a risk I'm willing to take," he said softly, and Athos relaxed. They studied at each other for a long moment, as if seeing each other for the first time.

Porthos had to resist the urge to kiss him. He'd promised they could leave sorting out where they stood with each other until everything else was settled, and he was suddenly struck by the worry that if Athos had come to his senses as it were, he wouldn't need him any longer.

But Athos was still standing there in front of him, a faint smile on his lips, and Porthos couldn't help it, he abruptly pulled him into a hug. Whatever else happened, Athos was looking and sounding better than he had in all the time Porthos had known him, and that at least was something to be thankful for. 

To his relief Athos hugged him back just as vigorously, and for a while they clung to each other emotionally. They'd both come through the wringer, and they'd made it together.

Eventually, Athos pulled back, and took Porthos by the arms. "Now," he said. "I believe you mentioned something about a plan?"

\--

Bathed and dressed, Athos joined Porthos downstairs and managed to eat a little breakfast. For two days practically all he'd been able to keep down was tea and a few plain biscuits and he was feeling weak, but also filled with a new determination.

They were clearing the plates away when both caught the distant sound of an engine, and Porthos dashed to the window. A car had pulled up next to his truck, and he scowled.

"It's that bloody doctor. What's he doing here?"

"Probably been sent to fish my bloated body from the lake," said Athos dryly, "assuming Milady didn't see the outcome of my little swim. She must have been quite shocked at finding it was you in residence that night."

Porthos started to say something then stopped and raised his eyebrows. "We're not talking about a ghost any more then?" he asked with an enquiring smirk.

Athos cleared his throat, looking sheepish. "Yes, well. It's possible my reasoning has been a little clouded, lately." He leaned over Porthos' shoulder to look out the window and frowned. "What do we do about him?"

"The arrival of Doctor Death out there might speed things up a little," Porthos decided. "It could actually help. If you reckon you could go back to being adorably muddle-headed for a bit, anyway?"

Athos gave him an amused look. "I'm going to make you pay for that remark later," he murmured.

Porthos felt his dick give a distinct twitch in his jeans, and swallowed. "I'll look forward to it," he countered in a low voice.

Gazing at each other from just inches apart, Porthos was convinced they were about to kiss each other until a knock at the door made them both jump. He sighed, and stepped back. "Ready?"

Athos nodded, took a second to compose himself, then walked over to open the door.

"Oh. Doctor." Athos ducked his head, pushing a hand into his neatly combed hair until he looked distracted and unkempt. "I wasn't expecting you." He frowned. "Was I? I get so confused..." He tailed off, dropping back to let the man inside.

"That's alright, no, no I wasn't due, I just happened to be passing and thought I'd call in, make sure you were alright. After my last visit I was rather worried that - oh." He'd abruptly caught sight of Porthos standing by the window and looked, Porthos thought, considerably more startled than he should have.

"Mr DuVallon. Good morning."

Porthos suppressed the urge to rip the man's head from his shoulders and nodded respectfully. "Doctor." He realised he had no idea what the man's name was. He strongly suspected it had never occurred to Athos to ask.

"I - er." The doctor hesitated, clearly at a loss. Had he been thrown by finding Athos still very much alive, Porthos wondered? Was he that implicated? Or was he just surprised at finding Porthos still here with him, after dropping his little bombshell last time? Milady must have been watching the place, waiting for her chance. She must have known Porthos had left for several days. The question was, did the doctor?

"I'm glad you're here actually," Porthos said, taking the doctor's arm and leading him confidentially a few steps away from Athos, as if for the illusion of privacy. 

"You are? I mean, how can I help? Is something wrong?"

Porthos nodded, looking anxious. "The thing is, Athos hasn't been sleeping well. He's been having nightmares - hallucinations, almost. He keeps seeing his dead wife."

The doctor started slightly. "He has told you then? About, er - the circumstances?"

"Oh yes." Porthos nodded gravely. "Such a terrible accident," he murmured, thinking it wouldn't hurt to let them think Athos had been lying to him, and also it would explain why he was still here.

"Er - quite. He's not been sleeping you say? I could up his dosage, if you think it would help? Perhaps an additional prescription for sleeping pills?"

Porthos thrust his hands into his pockets so no one would see them curl into fists.

"It's not just that," he confided. "You see - he's taken to sleepwalking. Just the other night I found him standing in the lake, and last night he was trying to get into the main house before I caught up with him. I'm worried he's going to hurt himself, and the thing is I have to go away tonight, it's something I can't get out of. I'll be back in the morning, but - you see my problem?"

"I do indeed," murmured the doctor. "I may have just the thing." He turned back to Athos and pulled a bottle of pills from his jacket pocket. 

"Athos? I understand you've not been sleeping?"

The dark shadows under Athos' eyes spoke for themselves, and his ordeal of the last couple of days had left him looking drawn and rather pale. It certainly supported Porthos' story, and Athos nodded hesitantly.

"I've been - seeing things," he admitted, twisting his hands together with a nervous look at Porthos, as if afraid of his secret being discovered. "Hearing things too. I can't settle." 

"Try these." He handed Athos the bottle, having first unscrewed the top. "Take one now I should, you'll feel better. Take another two before bed, you'll sleep like a lamb."

"They won't conflict with his other meds?" Porthos asked, frowning at the bottle, that lacked any kind of label.

"No, no they're quite safe. Tell you what, if they help, when I get back I'll draw up an ongoing prescription, I'll pop back in a couple of days with a further supply."

"You're very kind," Athos murmured, staring warily at the open bottle. 

"Not at all. Go on, take one now," the doctor insisted, and to Porthos' increasing agitation, Athos did as he was told.

"That's right. You'll soon feel like a nap, I'm sure." The doctor beamed at them both and nodded briskly. "Well, I'll be getting on, glad to have been of assistance." 

Porthos saw him to the door and made sure he was well on the way to his car before slamming the door and turning round anxiously. 

"Athos - " He stopped, as Athos promptly spat the small capsule back into his hand. "Oh."

Athos smirked at him. "Takes me back. Never liked taking my vitamins as a kid. I was waiting for him to insist on checking I'd swallowed." 

Porthos shook his head, sitting down next to him on the sofa with a groan. "Don't do that to me."

"I'm guessing it's nothing anyway," Athos said. "Just a placebo. Probably carries them to shut up patients nagging him for more pills."

"You reckon?" 

Athos shrugged. "If we're right, the last thing he'd want is for me to sleep soundly tonight." He looked at the bottle in his hand, then thrust it at Porthos. "Take it away, would you? Just in case?" 

"Yeah, course." Porthos looked at him. "You okay?"

"Very much not," Athos sighed. "But I'm better than I was. I think. Or at least I'm fooling myself into thinking I can cope, which is almost the same thing." He gave Porthos a tired smile. "Now what?"

"Now? Now we wait for nightfall. And hope she gets the message."

\--

The sun had been down for almost an hour, but the skies were clear and the garden was full of a silvery half-light in the late summer's evening. The moon was rising, not quite full but fat and yellow as butter as it climbed over the trees.

The door to the folly swung open and a figure emerged onto the lawn. Athos, barefoot, wearing pyjamas and dressing gown. He started walking very slowly but steadily towards the main house.

Porthos had left in the late afternoon, calling loud goodbyes from the doorstep and driving off up the track, his old truck rattling over the gravel in a cloud of dust.

The night-time garden was silent but for the brush of Athos' feet through grass that needed cutting. An owl hooted once from over the orchard, then fell quiet. A bat flitted overhead, circling erratically over the flower borders in search of insects. The air was scented with stocks and honeysuckle, and as Athos passed by a shadow detached itself from the hedge and followed after him.

When he reached the garden door to the house Athos reached out and tried the handle. He had the key lying in the pocket of his dressing gown, but the knob turned easily under his hand and the door swung open.

He knew they'd locked it when they'd left the previous time. He also knew there was only one person who could feasibly know where the other key was kept, who could have unlocked it for him, and a shiver went down his spine that had nothing to do with the night air or his cold feet.

Athos didn't falter, but kept moving forwards at the steady pace of the sleepwalker. He was almost at the ballroom when the sound of the outer door closing again some way behind reached his ears.

There were no lights on, but the place was empty of furniture and he knew the layout well. A little moonlight fell through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ballroom, and he passed through as silent as a ghost himself. Was that a footstep following in his wake, the quiet click of a heel on wooden floorboards?

Athos didn't pause, didn't turn. He walked through the far door, into the room with the portraits. He hadn't told Porthos, but this was the room where it had happened, where the last memory of his past life had flickered out like a candleflame, his hands around his wife's neck.

He shuddered, the memories overcoming him, and it was no shock at all when he heard her voice behind him.

"Athos? Athos my love, come to me."

He turned, slowly, expression vacant. She was standing in the doorway, a battery lantern in one hand that she placed carefully on the floor, and in the other - in the other a long handled antique dagger. No nightdress this time, she was clad in a long dark grey gown, perfect for blending into the shadows. And gloves.

"You came back to me," he breathed.

"Yes. Come here Athos. I have something for you." Stepping closer to him, lifting the blade to his throat. Seemingly entranced, he didn't flinch, didn't react. 

"Just one little prick," she crooned. "Just here, you feel that? Where your pulse is, all that flowing life. Take the hilt, that's the way. We can be together again Athos. Just push - "

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Snatching the dagger back Milady whirled round, startled to find Porthos standing in the inner doorway that lead deeper into the house. 

"You! What are you doing here? You left!"

"Oh, I came back again." Porthos nodded amiably. "On foot. Been waiting for you."

She lifted the dagger threateningly and he tutted.

"Now now. You think you can take me?"

"I'm stronger than I look."

Porthos conceded the point. "Okay, you think you can take both of us?"

Milady sneered. "What, you're counting on him to be of any use?" She turned round to look at Athos, only to find he was staring calmly back at her, wide awake and in full possession of his faculties. 

"Hello darling."

Quickly appraising the situation and the trap she'd walked into, she rolled her eyes in disgust. "Oh, shit." 

"What you want me to do with her?" Porthos asked Athos, and she spun back to look at him pleadingly. 

"Look I don't know what he's told you but he's a maniac, he tried to kill me!"

Porthos just glowered at her. "Yeah? Well right now I'm starting to feel a certain amount of sympathy. What happened? Cos he clearly didn't."

Milady sighed, lowering the dagger and apparently conceding defeat. "He pushed me against the wall, just here," she recalled. "There was a lamp, on a table - made of brass. I just wanted him to let go of me! I hit him with it." She flicked a look at Athos. "He went down like a sack of shit. I thought I'd killed him."

"There's irony for you," Porthos muttered. "Go on."

"I panicked. I called my brother. I thought he could help."

"What, get rid of the body?" Porthos demanded, and snorted when she shrugged.

"Anyway, by the time he got here I'd realised Athos was still alive. But he was also still unconscious, so we - _he_ came up with another plan."

"Oh, you're going to try and pin all this on your brother now? Nice."

She just looked at him. "Prove me wrong."

Porthos looked disgusted. "And the plan was what, bundle Athos off to a locked ward, dose him to the eyeballs till he doesn't know which way's up, and convince him he's killed you? Then ship him back off here to deal with his guilt and gently encourage him to top himself?"

Milady gave an elegant shrug. "It almost worked."

Porthos was looking at Athos, who'd stayed quiet throughout all of this. "That explains why you could never remember what happened. There was nothing else for you to remember."

"I do have one question," Athos said slowly.

"Only one?" Porthos asked incredulously. 

"What happened to all my furniture?"

Milady pursed her lips. "I sold it," she admitted, not sounding remotely repentant.

"Some of those pieces had been in my family for generations!" Athos protested.

"And they looked it. It was all hideous."

They glared at each other, and Porthos decided it was time to draw things to a conclusion. "What shall I do with her?"

Milady looked alarmed, and shamelessly turned to Athos for protection. "You won't let him hurt me, will you?" she asked.

Athos just studied her for a long while, then sighed heavily. "Let her go."

"What!" Porthos stared at him, ignoring the gleam of triumph in Milady's eyes. "You're not serious?"

"Leave," Athos told her. "And don't come back. I never want to see you again." He turned away and walked out, his head bowed.

A movement in the corner of his eye drew Porthos' attention and he realised with horror that Milady had drawn back the hand holding the dagger as if to hurl it.

Before he could give voice to a warning yell the knife had flown from her hand - to stick not in Athos' retreating back, but squarely in the portrait of him hanging on the wall. 

Porthos sagged with relief. "You've made your point," he said dryly. "Now get out of here. And if I were you, I'd go a very long way away. Change my name, maybe. Because while Athos might not want to see you charged with anything? I intend to go after your brother and his dodgy clinic with everything at my disposal."

"Which would be what, exactly? A bucket and spade?" she sneered.

Porthos spread his arms, as if to encompass the house and grounds. "All of this, for a start. He's banging me now, remember?"

She looked him up and down and cocked an eyebrow which could equally have been an indication of approval or disgust, before turning to walk out through the other door. Porthos wondered whether to follow and make sure she left the premises, then remembered Athos. What must he be thinking right now, and in what state of mind?

Porthos hastened through the door back into the ballroom, only to draw up short when he found Athos waiting for him on the other side.

"Athos! I thought you'd gone." A flood of heated embarrassment coursed through him as he realised Athos must have heard every word he'd just said, including his spurious claim to the estate and the bit about banging him. 

"I, er, I wasn't, that wasn't meant to sound, I was only - " Porthos stuttered, absolutely mortified and convinced Athos was surely going to throw him out as well.

Instead, and to Porthos' utter surprise, Athos stepped forward and kissed him. And it wasn't just a peck on the cheek, Athos took him into his arms and delivered the deepest, most mind-blowingly passionate kiss of Porthos' life.

It went on for some time, and when they finally broke off it felt like all the things that had needed to be said between them, had somehow been covered.

"Are you alright?" Porthos whispered, as they both stayed standing in the protective circle of each other's arms.

"I will be." Athos rested his forehead against Porthos' for a second, then smiled. "Shall we go home?"

"Aren't you already home, technically?" Porthos teased.

Athos looked at him. "Would you like to live here?" he asked, apparently seriously.

Porthos looked around, briefly entertaining the fantasy of playing lord of the manor. Then he looked back at Athos and smiled. "Not really my style," he admitted.

"Nor mine, if I'm honest," Athos said quietly. 

Porthos took his hand, and squeezed it. "Then let's go home," he said.

\--

Reaching the folly felt like achieving sanctuary, and as soon as the door was closed and locked behind them Porthos pulled Athos back into his arms and kissed him. 

"Take me to bed," Porthos instructed, and Athos gave a low laugh.

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

"We've wasted too much already," Porthos told him. "I've been a fool. I should never have walked out on you, I should have trusted my heart."

"How could you, when I didn't even trust myself?" Athos sighed. "Are you sure you - " 

Porthos kissed him again, not even letting him finish the sentence. "Yes," he said firmly.

With a silent laugh, Athos took his hand. "As you wish." He started leading Porthos towards the stairs, but this time it was Porthos who hung back, suddenly assailed by doubts.

"Are you sure that _you_ want this?" he asked, when Athos looked back at him questioningly.

"If I tell you I changed my sheets especially, will that help?" 

Porthos spluttered with laughter. "Seriously?"

Athos smirked. "I had to find _something_ to do this afternoon." He squeezed Porthos' hand. "I want you. I want this. There, does _that_ help?"

Porthos nodded, feeling strangely choked up, and Athos put his arms round him and kissed him on the nose. "Come to bed," Athos whispered. "Fuck me, hold me, do whatever you want. Just be with me tonight?"

Taking a shuddering breath, Porthos hugged Athos fiercely, then turned him round bodily to face the stairs again and slapped him on the arse. "You. Me. Bed. Now."

Athos snorted. "If you're Tarzan does that make me Jane?" He dodged out of range of a second spanking and ran up the stairs with Porthos in hot pursuit. By the time they sprawled on the bed together, tussling and stealing kisses, they were both laughing.

Porthos shucked off his jacket and knelt up to untie Athos' dressing gown. Underneath, his pyjamas did nothing to disguise the fact he was already hard, and Porthos covered him with his body, lying full length on top of him and nudging deliberately against his erection.

" _God_." Athos bucked helplessly underneath him, pulling Porthos into a heated kiss.

Porthos gave a low, delighted laugh and kept up the slow rocking of his body, his own cock thickening with every shunt of his hips. 

"I want you," he breathed, lips forming the words against Athos' mouth.

"I'm yours." Athos spread his legs, wrapping them around the back of Porthos' thighs and making him laugh again.

Porthos quickly shed the rest of his clothes down to his boxers then set about stripping Athos of his pyjamas, pressing kisses to every inch of exposed skin. 

Ticklish, Athos curled around him in self-defence, drawing Porthos' face back up to kiss him properly. 

"You're a tease," Athos complained, but he was smiling.

"You make me want to take my time." Porthos dipped his head again to flick his tongue over one of Athos' nipples, and he groaned.

Suddenly taking the initiative, Athos rolled Porthos over onto his back and straddled him, peeling down his boxers to mid-thigh and running a determined hand up his straining cock.

Porthos very quickly abandoned all ideas of drawn out foreplay and thrust eagerly into Athos' fist. "Tell me we've still got some condoms left here," he panted.

"It just so happens you're in luck." Athos pulled Porthos' boxer shorts right off and threw them carelessly to the floor, before bending over to capture him in his mouth.

"Fuck." Porthos clenched his fingers into the bedclothes and concentrated very hard on not coming there and then. 

In the times they'd slept together previously Athos had never been a passive participant, and Porthos had certainly had no qualms about his desire to be there, but tonight there was something altogether more engaged and playful about him. As they edged their way towards sex, somehow Athos was very much the one in charge and Porthos ached with desire for him.

When they finally came together it was with a quiet intensity that locked them both into their own little world of warm skin and breathy laughter. With their eyes fixed on the other's gaze as if reading volumes there, Porthos took Athos with a gentle purpose, fucking him slowly and steadily for a long time, until both of them were weak with the need to come, and gasping for breath.

Taking matters back into his own hands, Athos shifted position until he was on top again, riding Porthos into the mattress with an exultant laugh, hair hanging down over his face as he watched Porthos' hand working his own cock in turn. 

They came within moments of each other, Porthos first, unable to hold on a second longer with Athos grinding down on him. He watched Athos ride out his own orgasm seconds later, eyes closed and chest heaving as he clenched around Porthos' cock with a heartfelt moan of completion, spilling his hot release over Porthos' fingers.

Cleaning each other up, they disposed of the condom and settled back into each other's arms, blissfully exhausted. Kissing Athos on the side of the head, Porthos could already feel the need to sleep tugging at him, and stifled a yawn.

"Are you happy?" Athos whispered, and Porthos snuggled closer.

"I've never been happier," he whispered back. "Are you?" he added, knowing that Athos must have a lot to process right now. 

"I am." Athos sighed, but it sounded contented, and he rested his head on Porthos' chest, closing his eyes and letting Porthos stroke his hair. "I really am."

\--

In the early hours of the morning Porthos stirred, reaching out for Athos still half asleep. His arms met only an empty expanse of sheet and he rolled over, blinking in confusion. 

His first thought was that Athos had gone to the loo, but the door stood open and he could see the setting moon through the window, showing the room to be empty.

Sitting up, Porthos pulled on boxers and a t-shirt and went to investigate. There was probably nothing wrong, but right now he wasn't taking any chances.

Downstairs he was relieved to find Athos sitting on the sofa in his dressing gown. As Porthos walked round to join him, he saw Athos hastily shove something under a cushion, with a tell-tale rattle.

Porthos slowly sat down next to him. "You don't have to hide them from me you know," he said quietly. "I'd rather you didn't."

Athos sighed, and retrieved the little pill bottle, turning it over and over in his hands. 

"I can't sleep," he confessed.

Porthos put an arm round him and Athos sank gratefully against his side, leaning his head on Porthos' shoulder.

"Did you take one?"

Athos shook his head.

"Do you need to?"

"I don't know." Athos sighed again heavily. "I don't want to. But every fibre of my body is telling me yes."

"Do whatever you need to," Porthos told him. "I'm here for you Athos, I've got you." He took Athos properly into his arms and held him close, burying his face in Athos' hair. "Tomorrow, we find you a doctor," he promised. "A decent one. And we tell him what you've been taking and we get advice on coming off it properly. Okay?"

Athos nodded, and he turned slightly to press a kiss to Porthos' throat. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, you've saved my life in every sense, and I'm not sure what you get out of it other than a slightly broken playmate. A half decent garden I suppose."

Porthos sat back and frowned at him, breaking into a smile when he realised Athos was teasing and didn't really think Porthos was after his money. Thank God, he thought, that they'd got together before he'd known about any of it. 

"You're not broken," he promised. "Not even slightly."

"Slightly chipped, maybe," Athos said, mouth curving up in a half-smile. "Worn at the edges."

"Aren't we all?" Porthos took hold of Athos' hand. "I love you, you know," he murmured. 

Athos looked up sharply, searching his face. "Say that again?" he breathed.

"I love you Athos." Porthos cupped his face and kissed him softly. Athos wound his arms around Porthos' neck and kissed him back with a sudden desperate passion.

"I love you too," he whispered, when they finally broke off, still holding each other close. "God, I love you."

"Good." Porthos flicked him on the end of the nose with a finger and smiled at him. 

"What do you think you'll do with this place, going forwards?" Porthos asked after a while, when they'd pulled the rug from the back of the sofa down over them and snuggled into each other. "If you don't want to live in the house?"

"I think I'll sell it," Athos said. "Or let it, perhaps. Maybe someone would like to turn it into a proper clinic."

"That's a nice idea," Porthos agreed, nuzzling his cheek and pecking sleepy kisses along the line of his beard.

"I thought we could keep the cottages," Athos said, turning to look at him.

"You want to stay here then? I thought you might prefer to leave."

"You like the garden, don't you?"

"Well yeah, but - there are other gardens. If you'd rather live somewhere else?"

Athos shook his head. "I have no reason to want to leave now. Thanks to you. It was so hard being here at first, when I thought - " he lowered his head, staring again at the bottle of pills. "When I thought I'd killed her."

"You didn't though." Porthos frowned and took the bottle setting it firmly out of reach on the table behind them. 

"I still laid hands on her," Athos sighed. "I was drunk, and arrogant and yes, violent. Maybe I deserved everything that happened to me."

"Bollocks," Porthos growled. "And anyway, you let her go. You didn't have to. You don't owe her anything. Not after what she did to you."

"Are you really going after her brother?" Athos asked.

"Would you rather I didn't? I can hardly do it without you," Porthos admitted.

Athos was silent for a moment. "You think he might be doing the same thing to others?"

"That's what worries me, yeah. And that doctor."

"Then we have no choice. We have a duty to report it," Athos sighed.

"He's probably done a bunk by now anyway, if she's tipped him off," Porthos pointed out. "We might not have to do anything."

Athos sighed. "Why is everything so complicated?"

"It's called life," Porthos smiled. "So are we staying then? Here I mean?"

"I think so. For now, anyway. I like it here, don't you?"

"Very much." Porthos squeezed him fondly, and Athos rested his head back on Porthos' shoulder.

"Then we stay," Athos murmured. "No reason not to. No bad memories any more. Thanks to you." He squirmed round in Porthos' arms and kissed him on the lips. 

Porthos grinned at him. "Why don't we go back to bed?" he suggested. "Because if you can't sleep, I can suggest a number of interesting alternatives. Homeopathic, like. With the emphasis on the homo."

Athos smiled. "Now that," he said, "sounds like the very best medicine of all."

\--


End file.
